The Reckoning (Work In Progress)
by Eline
Summary: Post-GoF Snapefic. Takes place after "Heart of Darkness". A lot of wandering down memory lane and angst, naturally . . .
1. Part One

The Reckoning

By Eline

Part One

__

Takes place after "Heart of Darkness".

There was a man walking down the broken path of the cemetery on that grey, windy afternoon. It was no ordinary cemetery, tucked up in this obscure corner in Kincross with Muggle-repelling spells on the boundaries. Only those who knew it was there and what it contained could enter.

It was a place where wizards and witches were interred. Severus Snape went down the path he had not walked for almost twenty years now. 

The last visit had been also another dismal afternoon like this. He had been a young wizard, fresh from Hogwarts with twelve O.W.L.s and seven N.E.W.T.s. His grandmother had been there with him, saying how proud his parents would have been . . .

Looking at the second newest pair of graves in his family's plot, Snape wondered what they would think of him now.

It had been too late for him at age seventeen, when he had last stood before their graves with darkness coalescing in his mind and lies in his heart. Even then . . . even then, he knew that his parents would not be proud of him, of what he was getting himself into.

He had only known his parents for seven years until a freak gale off the West Coast of Africa during a second honeymoon cruise had caused the worst wizarding disaster of that decade and ended their lives on a catastrophic note. The memories he had were . . . *hazy* to say the least. There had been a time when he had not recalled anything about his past at all--the darkest period of his life when he had let bitterness and hatred rule him.

But now . . .

He lived a lie still. A Death Eater and a double agent for Dumbledore. A murderer and a schoolteacher attempting to live with a none-too pleasant past. Were they two separate identities? Or would one dominate him eventually when it was time to choose which path to follow towards an uncertain future?

He did not know why he had come here again. To look back on the past? To regain what was lost? Regain what he had wilfully forgotten and now regretted the loss of . . .

That was not possible anymore. So *what* did he want?

Freedom . . . freedom from guilt and obligations that tied him down to the past.

Forgiveness from the parents he had never known? Would they have been pleased by his deeds, his betrayals and his attempts at redemption?

But the dead did not speak to him, or give him any answers. They were as silent as they had been all those years ago.

Snape stayed a moment longer before turning back. The wind whipped his cloak about as he turned back to confront the reality of the present, as if pushing him along to face what he must. _There is no place for you here--go reap what you have sown . . ._

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Within the small lodge in the Forbidden Forest, a number of old friends were conversing amongst themselves.

There was a couple, a man and a woman, seated by the fireplace facing the others. There was a petite woman who was swearing at another dark-haired man with swarthy skin while three others watched, amused. There was laughter and good-natured ragging afterwards. Nothing serious, all in good fun . . .

"--You haven't heard about the time we sneaked into the--"

"Oh no! Not that!"

"Shh! That's supposed to be a *secret*!"

"I had nothing to do with *that* either," Remus Lupin said from the bed where he was supposed to be convalescing from a recent forced stay in Voldemort's lair. "Honestly, Sirius, I wouldn't know these people at all if not for the fact that they like bothering werewolves--"

"Ha! Let Gerad hear that!" Caitlin chortled from where she was practically sitting on her husband Edward's lap.

"Our noble leader is going to be crushed!" Dimitri exclaimed dramatically. The others were the core of W.E.R.E.S.--Wizards/Witches for Equal Rights (Especially for so-called "Sub-humans")--a group that had championed everything from werewolf/were-creature rights to Muggle-Wizard relations in the past. (And they still were if Sirius was reading into certain parts of the conversation correctly.)

They were currently trading tales while waiting for Gerad who had gone off on "an errand" that afternoon. When Remus and Sirius had been sharing stories of the past earlier that morning, Caitlin and Gerad had caught them at it and insisted that they swap tales of mischief and mayhem.

They had moved over to the lodge because Dumbledore had asked them to (and because the infirmary was no place for such rowdiness). It had to do with Severus Snape's return to Hogwarts. It was better that Snape did not have anything to report to Voldemort about their whereabouts--or have it dragged out of him in any way.

For every one of the W.E.R.E.S. exploits, there had to be one of their escapades at school. It was mainly the lighter stuff though. There were parts that were glossed over somewhat and Sirius and Remus avoided mentioning Pettigrew if they could help it. There were gaps in the narrative and warning looks exchanged over pauses. There were still secrets and grey areas that none of them touched on. The fact remained that there *were* distinctions between groups of friends as well and each had their secrets never told . . .

"Fancy! We didn't know Remus was such a naughty boy!" Caitlin exclaimed after Sirius had told the tale of one of their grander projects to get back at the Slytherins.

"I was in bad company--I always wind up in bad company these days," Lupin said dryly. All in all, the tale-swapping was cheering everyone up immensely--they needed it. The very thought of Voldemort on the loose in the world with his old strength was depressing enough as it was.

"Hah! That's what *you* say . . . Of course, Moony was great at fibbing--he used to cook up heaps of porkies to hide his lycanthropy from us--"

The door burst open just then and a new face entered their midst.

She was a slender woman with tanned skin, fair--almost white--hair and pale eyes--a combination that was extremely striking--and seemingly boundless energy that could be felt like a layer of crackling static surrounding her.

"Hullo! How's my favourite test subject doing?" was the first thing she said as she stepped in. She had a low, mellifluous voice that was quite pleasant on the ear. 

"The good doctor approaches the favoured werewolf of the day," Edward intoned solemnly.

"This is Larissa Mau--she's a--"

"Squib, shapeshifter, generally annoying person," said Larissa Mau. Up close, Sirius noticed that she was dressed like a Muggle--only somewhat more formally than Gerad and company. And she had no wand either.

"Also the leading expert on werewolves," Gerad said as he came in after her. "As in other aspects that go beyond the 'how to kill them' methods."

"Only because no one else goes near them or even *tries* to figure out lycanthropy," she said with a snort. "Thank goodness for Gerad and the old Network! Now you said there was something I should know?"

"Yes--it's about a possible spell to curtail physical transformations at the full moon."

"What? Moony, are you insane?" Sirius said, suddenly comprehending his friend's intention. "You *want* to try out something that those Death Eaters used on you?"

"It's still something," Lupin said pragmatically.

"Of course--tell me everything . . ." Larissa Mau leaned forwards expectantly and pulled out a Muggle device that Sirius knew was called a _tape-recorder_. How it would work in the magic-saturated environs of Hogwarts was a mystery.

"Don't worry, Sirius . . ." Gerad said as they went to one side to talk. "Oh if it's that 'test subject' thing you're wondering about . . . Well, it's an old joke--Larissa used to study local werewolves when W.E.R.E.S. was still legit because she didn't need to go out of London to find them back then."

"I see . . . She's a Squib?" It was not often that people from wizarding families admitted *that* in front of other wizards.

"Completely unable to do a spell, hex or curse," said the subject of discussion--she seemed to have *very* keen hearing as well. "I'm not ashamed of that, Mr. Black--though the paternal side of my family seems to have disowned me for some reason . . ."

"Snooty Anglo-Egyptian wizard family with bloodlines as long as your hair," Caitlin said in an undertone. "Her mother's side are much nicer folks."

"But the one thing she *can* do is change--into any creature or living being." Gerad looked over his shoulder at the woman listening to Lupin. "And that's classified Ministry information right there, Sirius . . . You can understand why the Ministry wouldn't let a shapeshifter out of their sight once they found out about her."

"She's got a Muggle degree in psychology and some other stuff so they put her in Muggle/Wizard Relations," Kai chipped in. "They had to find her something to do in case she took it to her head to run off to find other work."

"So she's supposed to smooth things out with the parents when Muggles suddenly find out that they're wizards--especially just before school term starts."

Sirius looked thoughtful. This was vaguely familiar ground and he recalled something just then. "So why didn't her department handle Harry's case then?"

"Dursley--Vernon and Petunia. Privet Drive," said Larissa Mau, still with her back to them. "We've got them filed under 'Completely Hopeless (Hostile) Muggle Relatives--do not approach at all costs'. Albus Dumbledore said that if worse came to worse, he'd handle it. I believe it was a learning experience for both sides."

From what his godson had told him about his introduction to wizardry, Sirius knew that Harry's relatives on his mother's side were not likely to see his magic as anything but an abnormality. If not for the Blood Tie that kept Harry safe during the school holidays, Sirius would have taken his godson under his wing when he had agreed to it last year.

"Some Muggles are like that, yes--"

"But not all, thank goodness," Caitlin said, smiling at Terence.

As the only Muggle present, Terence Lucas was an oddity, but he had been in W.E.R.E.S. for over a decade now and the others treated him like just another one of the team.

"I think of it as an opportunity to learn new things," Terry said with a smile and held up the camera he had been fiddling with. "I've got to find out how I can get these magic do-hickeys to work with my lenses . . ."

"He's got the world's biggest collection of werewolf photos," Dimitri said, clapping the taller man on the shoulder, "after giving us grey hairs when he hangs upside down from the broomstick and tells us to fly 'a little lower, please'. He's collaborating with Dr. Mau over there on her book."

"Ah . . . A book on werewolves?" Sirius guessed.

Caitlin raised an eyebrow. "How did you know? Seriously, Larissa's work has been going on *long* before W.E.R.E.S. got started--you should hear her go on about the theories of morphic resonance, gravitational fields and genetic factors responsible for the metamorphosis . . ."

"She still does if anyone would listen . . . One word of advice--don't get her started," Gerad whispered.

"Does the Ministry know she's involved with you lot?" Sirius wondered. From what he had heard, W.E.R.E.S. was not something the Ministry would condone even if they were not aware of half of what they got up to.

"Of course they do--but they think it's her eccentric little hobby and it's not likely that they would poke any further where werewolves are concerned. It's *us* that's the secret."

"Your lot as in natural Animagi?" That was the other interesting fact about this little group--they had the in-born ability to do what had taken three years of research, the right spell and a hard-to-make-potion for Sirius and his friends. (He was intensely curious about what forms the others could take on, but they had not revealed this yet and Moony wasn't being very helpful about it either.)

"Yes," Gerad said in a low voice. "Keep it down . . ."

"Too late," Kailing muttered as Dr. Mau turned around.

"I don't think they should be considered Animagi, though--I prefer the term--"

"_Natural bimorphics_," everyone else chorused and rolled their eyes.

"Yes," she said cheerfully as she stood up and put her tape-recorder into her pocket, "the main difference being that Animagi don't have the innate urge to change into their alternative shapes. Kailing over there is a prime example . . . you felt better after yesterday morning's excursion, didn't you?"

"Yes--unless you count the fact that I itched like the blazes for the whole day." Kailing's skin had turned lobster red after their successful rescue yesterday--the result of a large dose of offensive magic that had been flung at her while she had been in her sea dragon form. Her magic-proof hide had not been harmed, but the side effects seemed to have extended all the way to her human shape in the form of a rash.

"I'll have to see about that later--dreadfully sorry, I'm going to be busy today. . . I have to meet Syed Omar Sharif later this afternoon--he's world's leading expert on djinns and afrits. What's the next thing on the agenda?"

"That Portkey--it's with the headmaster. Ah, it looks like we have to end this little reunion soon, chaps--"

"Work--always work," Dimitri muttered and threw up his hands.

"Even more now that Voldemort is loose--can't have another Incident like back in eighty-seven . . ."

"You owe me a vacation, Gerad," Kailing said meaningfully. "Sick leave as it is . . ."

"Well, all right . . ." Kailing was out the door and running for the lake before he was done. "I suppose you are right about the urge to change," he said to Dr. Mau.

"Another thing, we've got to get back home and pick up the kids from our Mum's place first, Gerad," Caitlin said as she got up. "And we can't leave the clinic closed for so long . . ."

"We'll bring Sandra and Sean next time," Edward said, smiling. "They haven't seen Uncle Moony for almost two years now."

It was Sirius' turn to raise his eyebrows. "*Uncle Moony*?" he asked with a growing smirk.

"Larissa used to be Auntie Kit-Kat to them," Lupin said dryly.

"They're cute kids--I gave them chocolate," she said with a shrug. "Gerad--the Portkey?"

"We'll have to go up to the school . . ."

Sirius decided to go along with them to see Dumbledore and leave Lupin to his rest for a while. He transformed into his Animgus and trailed Gerad and Larissa Mau out.

A little path led to the edge of the forest and the Hogwarts grounds. They passed Hagrid's cottage, but Sirius knew he was not there--he was out on a mission for Dumbledore. Then the path wound near the edge of the lake and Sirius could see the dark serpentine shape moving sinuously below the surface from a distance.

"Maybe she can make friends with the giant squid," Gerad was heard to be saying to Dr. Mau as they deviated from the path to get closer for a better look. Seeing a dragon up close was a rare enough occurrence to pique anyone's interest.

A pair of glowing orbs appeared in the shallows and blinked lazily at them. The rest of the sea dragon's great length trailed off into the grey-blue depths--Sirius had seen just how large she was while they had been in the forests of Romania tracking down Moony.

"I know Terry would love to get a shot at her now."

"What makes you think he won't try?" Indeed, Terence Lucas was jogging along with lakeshore with his camera, trying to get a good angle while Dimitri watched patiently. But Kailing was not going to make it easy for him for she darted away as soon as he came near.

They continued on to the school proper with amused smiles. During the vacation period, the grounds were almost empty of life beyond the odd house elf or Professor passing through. Sirius thought it a little strange--his memories were always that of his eventful (and a little rowdy) school years when the castle fairly buzzed with life.

Up in the privacy of Dumbledore's office, Sirius changed back as the headmaster of Hogwarts greeted the newcomer. The Portkey (or what Sirius mentally termed the Death Eater Standard-Issue Multipurpose Field-Knife) was brought out in a wooden box locked with some really advanced binding spells.

"How distastefully cliched--yet oddly fitting," Larissa murmured as the dagger with the snake-headed hilt was revealed. "Was there poison on it?"

"Would you believe *two* kinds? On the blade and on the fangs--we cleaned it off," Gerad told her.

"So it's fairly safe to handle now?"

"Fairly safe--unless someone activates it," Dumbledore said. "Voldemort would no doubt have some nasty surprise waiting on the other end if someone tried that again. We did not delete the Portkey enchantment--it's the only clue we have pertaining to the location of Voldemort's lair."

Sirius grew curious. Was there a way for spellcasters to find out where a Portkey went without actually using them?

"Security's that tight?"

"Not even our man on the inside knows--Voldemort trusts precious few wizards these days."

Larissa looked it over carefully again before closing the lid. "I'll try my best--I know some young wizards who would find this an enjoyable challenge."

"More of your useful acquaintances, Dr. Mau?"

"You can say that," she said with a smile. "It's been a pleasure, Professor Dumbledore. Gerad, Sirius--I suppose I'd be seeing your lot sooner or later . . ."

"Allow me," Gerad said, extending an arm. She took it and Gerad pulled out a Portkey in the shape of a pocket-watch before they winked out of sight.

"Ah Sirius--isn't it remarkable what you can accomplish when you're really determined?" Dumbledore chuckled slightly.

"Pardon?"

"I mean people without a trace of magic in them--it doesn't necessarily slow them down. Sometimes it does exactly the opposite. Adaptability's important--especially in the time to come," he said in a more solemn tone. "We were not prepared three decades ago, Sirius, but I intend to make sure that history will not repeat itself again."

"What's that got to do with people like Dr. Mau?"

Dumbledore rose from his chair and paced to the high window behind his desk. "Magic, Sirius . . . Have we come to rely on it too much?"

"But we *usually* fight magic with magic," Sirius said as he joined the headmaster at the window.

"Yes, but all that magic did not help us win the war. It took a simple but powerful thing to defeat Voldemort, and the cost of that battle you know very well . . ."

Indeed he did--Sirius had promised himself that there would be a reckoning for what had happened to the Potters and all those innocents slain during Voldemort's reign of terror.

"You know what Gerad's little organisation is about?" Dumbledore was now looking out of the window at the lake. From this vantage-point, the people down there were matchstick figures on the shore and the dragon was a dark line in the water.

"They've gone underground--I think they're still active though."

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that. Gerad's people have been very useful--they will be even more useful still when Voldemort looks for more supporters."

Sirius caught on. "The werewolves!"

"Yes--Voldemort won't find as many werewolves willing to join him now as he had before. As for the ghouls, the zombies, the vampires and other creatures of the night . . . We cannot keep him from recruiting them, but he will find the werewolves a challenge. The work of W.E.R.E.S. and Larissa Mau's efforts over the years will prove invaluable. But you didn't hear that from me."

Down by the lake, the dragon had tired of the game and was rearing up obligingly so that the photographer could have a shot before she had to return to her human form to leave Hogwarts.

The pieces of the puzzle began to gather and fall into place . . . He had been sent to gather the trusted few who had their own parts to play after that disaster at the Tri-wizard Tournament--they were all on the alert now that they knew Voldemort was back. And--

"Hagrid . . . you sent him north to the giants," Sirius said suddenly. "To offer friendship and to get to them before Voldemort does." Dumbledore's plan was clear to him now--he was trying to deny Voldemort as much support from the magical races and creatures as he could.

"Correct. And there are more tasks for you as well, Sirius, if you so desire to take them up." Dumbledore turned from the window to face him. "I want you to--Goodness, what's *that*?"

Following Dumbledore's line of sight, Sirius saw that he was staring out of the opposite window behind him. There was a dark mass of something that looked like smoke coming from the nearby village of Hogsmeade.

"A fire?" But Sirius immediately sensed that this was not just a simple fire. Surely someone would have performed an extinguishing spell by now?

"I fear that it is something much more serious . . ." He produced his wand and intoned, "_Sonitus alarmus_!"

The sound that followed was like a fanfare made by an over-enthusiastic bugler that Sirius had only heard twice in his whole life--that alarm that was only used in times of trouble.

Here? At Hogwarts? No, *Hogsmeade* . . .

"We must hurry," the headmaster said and started off for the Great Hall. Sirius switched back into his Animgus form and bounded after him.

"What's happening, headmaster?" asked Professor McGonagall breathlessly as they met her running just outside the Great Hall.

"Something I wish I had prepared for, Minerva," Dumbledore replied shortly before sweeping into the Hall.

Gathered together, the number of witches and wizards at Hogwarts just then was hardly impressive. Sirius hoped that Dumbledore knew what he was doing.

"All here? Good. There is a fire at Hogsmeade," he began without preamble. "As it has not been extinguished yet, I'm assuming that something is wrong and we shall have to take a hand in it."

The other teachers looked stunned as the full import of his words sunk in.

"Surely it can't be--"

"It's the sort of thing that Voldemort would do--this is likely to be retaliation for our strike against him in his own stronghold."

Practically everyone had blanched at the mention of that dreaded name--except Snape, who looked about as readable as a stone at this point. To their credit, no one was insisting on that ridiculous "You-Know-Who" business.

Slinking about unnoticed in the background, Sirius noticed Dimitri and Terence coming into the Hall.

"Severus and Minerva will come with me--the rest of you hold the fort until we get back."

"Professor Dumbledore--we'd like to volunteer," Dimitri called from behind the teachers. "I'm volunteering in Gerad's stead actually--he'd have done the same."

"Very well, Dimitri--we do need all the help we can get. Poppy, be ready for any casualties," he instructed Madam Pomfrey gravely. Moments later, they were mounted on brooms and flying for Hogsmeade at top speed.

And in the lake, the dragon began to swim in convoluted circles . . .

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Severus Snape had been in his office when the siren had sounded. As apparation was out of the question in Hogwarts, he had to dash up to the Great Hall where the other teachers were assembling.

And he saw Black in his Animagus form in the background--the last being on earth he wanted to see. Snape had not forgotten that broken nose that he had given him--it was just another grievance on the long list of grievances concerning Black. Addressing them seemed quite impossible these days--they were supposed to be working together now. The very thought of that set his teeth on the edge. It still rankled that he had been wrong about Black . . .

But Dumbledore's words had driven all thoughts of revenge temporarily out of his head. A fire at Hogsmeade that had not been curbed yet for some reason. Snape did not doubt that Voldemort's hand was behind it.

And he had not been able to give advance warning about it because Voldemort had known better than to tell him anything.

So much for him being a spy. Voldemort was playing a game and he was just one more piece to be manipulated as the Dark Lord pleased. He thought he would have gotten used to it by now . . .

By the time they reached Hogsmeade, the fire looked like it was spreading fast. The smoke and ash filling the air was becoming so thick that they had to veer away and land near a group of highly agitated wizards and witches in what passed for the village square.

Trying to get information from the middle of this chaotic mess was easier said than done--Black had to practically grab one distraught wizard running past and swing him around to face Professor Dumbledore.

"Oh--Professor Dumbledore! Thanks goodness you're here! The fire--we can't seem to put it out!" he babbled. "None of our extinguishing spells work at all! We called the Ministry but--"

"Where did this fire start?"

"I-I'm not that sure, sir!" I think it was over by the bakery . . ."

"Lead the way, please," Dumbledore said. "Sirius--take Dimitri and Terence to make sure that all houses are evacuated. We cannot take any chances this time."

Black nodded and ran off into the crowd with that other wizard Snape did not know and the Muggle who hung around with Gerad Conelly's bunch. Trust Black to associate with Muggles . . . The fact that Dumbledore had separated the two of them indicated just how much faith he had about them working together. And he was absolutely right on that score--Snape would have preferred to cut off his own foot first.

Dumbledore's next words brought him back on track again.

"This fire isn't magical," Dumbledore was muttering as they hurried after their guide to the purported source of the blaze.

Minerva McGonagall pointed her wand at a burning doorway. "_Restinguo_! It *is* extinguishable, hendmaster," she said as the fire died down, only to be replaced by a new wave of flames. "But the fire just keeps spreading, so the extinguishing spells make no difference."

"It could be the Perpetus Charm," Snape muttered darkly. Trust Voldemort to come up with something like this . . . "It could keep the fire going on *indefinitely*."

Dumbledore nodded. "The Perpetus Charm--yes, you're probably right, Severus. The only way to stop the fire is to cancel the original spell."

"The only way to do *that* is to get to the source," Snape said just as they arrived at the building that looked like it had been burning for the longest time. The roof was gone and the floors were crumbling away into the blaze.

They looked at the three-storey high inferno with trepidation. With the right spells, it would be fairly easy to pass unscathed through the flames--but then they would have to look out for the crumbling structure of the building itself. It looked like it was about to fall apart any second now.

"We'll have to do this the hard way then--anyone up to a bit of fire-walking?" Dumbledore asked.

"Headmaster, there could be a trap in there," Snape pointed out. Voldemort would have liked nothing better to get rid of Albus Dumbledore permanently--preferably *without* going head to head with him for a battle on that scale could drain both sides to the point of death. "You cannot risk it."

"Severus is right," Minerva said. "I'll go--"

"No--I'll go." It had been his failure to warn them of this after all.

"Severus," Dumbledore began, "if you think that you can blame yourself for this--"

"We shouldn't argue now, headmaster," Minerva said, looking rather tight-lipped. "Severus and I will go in."

Snape was about to disagree, but he caught himself and nodded curtly. No point in arguing now--they should be saving their strength to get to the root of the problem as fast as possible. 

* * * * * * * * * * * *

They had split up, going door to door and alerting the households in the path of the blaze--which was basically every house around them. It got easier after they recruited a few more volunteers to spread the word.

"And bring out your brooms--we might need them for emergencies!" Sirius called as another family left their home. The sight of the spreading fire had been enough to make even the most stubborn see reason. Residences in Hogsmeade were mostly closely packed houses--a fire like that could decimate their entire hamlet easily. The chaos was so great that no one recognised him at all--of course, he was not as unkempt and thin as he used to be after Azkaban, but Voldemort himself could have strolled through and no one would have noticed . . . Well, the amount of terror the Dark wizard's presence could generate might just turn this into a *riot*.

"We could organise a bucket chain!" Terence Lucas shouted over to him as they raced up another row of houses. "If they had any wells or rivers here . . . Do they?"

"Unfortunately no!" Dimitri yelled back. "Excuse me, ma'am, I don't think it's a good idea to try to pack luggage--"

"Watch it! Go easy, please--don't push!" The important thing was to keep people from trampling each other and setting off spells while panicking. And that was getting harder to do as the number of young children underfoot was increasing and they were being jostled left and right by the crowds of people.

They were chivvying away the last few families when the row of houses caught fire from behind.

"Just in time--I hope the headmaster'll get this sorted out before the whole place burns to the ground," Sirius said with a sigh.

"My kitty! My kitty's still up there!" one of the girls from the crowd cried and she would have run back to her house if Terence had not intercepted her and scooped her up in time.

"We'll get your kitty for you--you stay with your mum now," Terry said as he deposited the girl in the arms of her frantic mother.

"Oh no . . ." Dimitri muttered. "How are you going to do *that*?"

"Fly?"

"I'll get the cat," Sirius said resignedly. He had been a Beater on the Gryffindor Quidditch team before getting thrown off for truly spectacular bouts of (Slytherin provoked) fouling and he was still fairly good at aerial manoeuvres.

The borrowed broomstick from Hogwarts worked fine and the trip up to the girl's room went well--it was the cat that was being unreasonable when someone wanted to save it from a fire. Sirius sustained scratches in the process of catching it; this cat was obviously not as intelligent as Crookshanks.

"Where are those Ministry duffers when you *really* need them?" Sirius groaned after giving the ungrateful cat back to the little girl. Crowd-control and saving other people's pets was going to need more than just the three of them and their broomsticks.

"Uh-oh--guys, someone else didn't get out," Terry said, pointing at the second floor window. Sirius realised that there would be even more flying practice before this day was done.

_It's going to be a long afternoon . . ._ Sirius thought to himself as he took off again.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

After invoking the _Infitialis Deflagratio_ charm on themselves, they had stridden into the fiery conflagration to find the source of the spell.

House rivalries and differences aside, Snape knew that Minerva McGonagall was a very competent witch. They were watching each other's backs as they blasted aside falling roof beams to get in deeper. As the upper floors had been destroyed, it was a safe assumption that the source of the spell could not have been rooted up there. That left the ground floor and the cellar if there was one.

"Severus! Here!" McGonagall called after they had been poking around the smothering debris on the first floor for a few minutes. There, at the foot of the remains of what looked like a brick foundation, was a flame that burned black and purple. One look confirmed his suspicions--it was the Perpetus Charm.

"It looks like it can be deleted," she said after casting a _Pererros_ Spell over the flickering flame. "I'll try to cancel it . . . _Strig_--"

"There's a trap--I'm sure of it!" he interrupted her before she could finish the slightly more advanced spell that would disrupt the Perpetus Charm--a dangerous act in itself. Voldemort would not let them have a victory so easily--especially after what had happened a few days ago.

"Then one of us would have to back the other up," she decided. She was obviously thinking that it was better to be safe than sorry when it came to Voldemort's Dark Magic. 

"I'll cancel it."

She nodded. There was no time for arguments--it was getting uncomfortably warm despite the anti-fire charm and the village was going to be so much ash if they delayed. "The avoidance charm?"

Snape nodded curtly--that would enough. At least he hoped so. "_Strigos abruptum_!"

At the same time, Minerva shouted, "_Defugio_!"

Their precautions *had* been necessary. The black and purple flame flickered out but the cancellation of that spell triggered off another that caused a yawning portal to open up right beneath Snape's feet. A Portal Trap--just where it was suppose to send the victim was something Snape did not wish to find out firsthand.

Minerva's spell held and he was shunted aside fairly quickly to stand on solid ground.

Another "_Strigos abruptum_!" was enough to seal the trap. Now they could effectively put out the fire that was endangering the village--

But like an answered prayer, rain came pouring down. No one had seen the storm clouds through the blanket of smoke covering the village. It was not a light shower but a downpour that doused the fires around them effectively.

"A miracle," Minerva said as they stood there and let the rain wash the soot off their faces. "We didn't even need to do another spell . . ."

"Oh, I think it was rather more well planned than that," Dumbledore said as he picked his way over the scorched ground towards them "Water elementals can summon rain . . . as can certain other water creatures."

Snape was not up to deciphering this cryptic statement--he was just relived that Voldemort's latest scheme had not proceeded to fruition. Dumbledore would not look so calm if there had been any casualties. Now all he wanted was a rest--maintaining spells for prolonged periods of time was tiring.

He had this feeling that rest was something that was going to be very hard to come by in the time ahead. It was beginning again . . . and he was caught square in the middle of it.

Standing out in the rain, he could not help but feel cynical as more brooms came hurtling out from the sky--the Ministry people were here at last, but they were late as usual. If this was going to be the way they reacted in a crisis--rather like the way they had botched things up the last time--they were going to have to depend on themselves . . .

Dumbledore was trying to get the facts through to the disbelieving Ministry officials--but that was an uphill task if he ever saw one. There was not even a Dark Mark hanging over the scene like some harbinger of doom--now that would *really* shake things up. Snape wondered if the headmaster ever felt as helpless in the face of Ministry incompetence . . .

His wand was still in his hand. The idea was still in his head.

"_Morsmordre_," he whispered. If you had the power, shouting the spell was not really necessary--he learned that lesson long ago. The blackened framework of the house behind him chose that moment to collapse, sending up a cloud of black dust and ash--it framed his version of the Dark Mark perfectly. It might not be as large and impressive as the one at the Quidditch World Cup, but it had the same effect.

The screaming began in earnest now. 

*Now* they would know how lucky they were--no one had actually been killed here. But Voldemort had not intended for them to--if he had, they would be ashes on the ground by now.

The Ministry officials looked dumbstruck for a moment before starting on some low-key hysterics. Dumbledore shot him a warning look over his shoulder--he would get lectured for causing this widespread panic. But Snape was past caring. It was beginning again--people had the right to be frightened. The Ministry *should* be frightened.

Walking through fire was an extremely apt metaphor for these dark times . . .

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Restlessness eventually drove Remus Lupin out of his convalescence. Thanks to Madam Pomfrey, he was feeling as right as rain and was willing to risk her wrath to go in search of his friends.

By the time he ventured out, it was getting late in the day. Fortunately, the moon was on the wane and he would not have to worry about that for another two weeks or thereabouts.

The first thing he noticed was that it had been raining--but it had slowed to a drizzle right now. The second was the sharp carbon reek borne by the cool breeze that implied that a fire had occurred somewhere nearby. He was going to go down to the castle proper to get to the bottom of this when Gerad Connelly popped into existence just outside the lodge.

"Gerad? What happened?" he asked.

"I'm the dark too," replied the curly-haired man, pocketing his Portkey. "I just got back from seeing Larissa Mau off at the Ministry--she insisted I stay for tea. When I got back, it was raining and when I went down to the school, I found them holed up as though they were under attack. They told me that Hogsmeade was on fire. The headmaster's down there--did you see Kai, Dimitri or Terry around?"

"No--and Sirius' gone too. Knowing them, they'll be with Dumbledore in Hogsmeade."

"Not anymore," Gerad said, nodding at the treetops in the direction of Hogwarts. A line of brooms and their riders were returning from the direction of Hogsmeade. A number of them were veering off and heading in the direction of the forest.

It was three out of the four missing persons--they were dripping wet and had traces of ash and soot on their clothing. The sound of their voices could be heard before they even landed.

"--I tell you that man practically ran me over when I--"

"--ruddy buggers don't even say thank you after you've pulled their bacon out of the fire--"

"Like the cat you mean?" Dimitri was saying as they landed in front of Lupin and Gerad.

"What happened?"

"You won't believe this, Moony--I pulled off the old Triple Barrel Roll trying to avoid some of the idiots who were trying to fly away and got caught in the smoke! You should've seen us! Those idiots at the Ministry probably can't do a mid-air broomstick rescue!"

"But you should've seen them panic and run around like headless chickens when the Dark Mark appeared . . ."

But that was the reaction most people would exhibit when faced with that symbol of past horrors. Lupin could not really blame them for that. "So what happened? What caused the fire?" he asked his old friend patiently. Sirius on an adrenaline high was a little harder to bring back down to earth than normal.

"It was deliberate. Old Moldywarts was sending us a little message--with a trap included," Sirius said grimly as he wiped at his soot-stained face with a rain-damped sleeve. "But Snape and McGonagall settled that--the rain took care of the rest. I don't know anything else--I wasn't going to stick around for any Ministry stooges to identify me."

"While we're giving credit where credit's due, I think we should be thanking a certain dragon too," Dimitri said as he spotted something in the distance behind them.

A very damp and dishevelled Lee Kailing was staggering up the path towards them from the direction of the lake. 

"Well? Is it all right now?"

"Yes--the fire's out. The rain was brilliant, by the way," Gerad said As a sea dragon, Kailing was only fast and powerful in water--she was, to put it bluntly, just a little more mobile on land than the average snail. Summoning rain was a part of the weather magic that sea dragons--who were related in some way to water elementals--had.

"Oh good . . . That was only the second time I ever tried anything like that *intentionally*. Lucky thing the wind was blowing in the right direction--" And she would have fallen over if Dimitri and Terry had not caught both of her arms in time. "I think I deserve extra time off for this, Gerad . . ."

"Sorry, Kai, we've got to move on--you can have a rest at Caitlin's place." The normally cheerful man looked a little grim. They all were probably feeling the same cold dread underneath--Voldemort's strike this close to Hogwarts had driven home the fact that they were living in dangerous times.

"Oh *bother* . . ."

"It's not like we have a choice. Did you know? Those Ministry wizards are insisting that was some copycat trying to be Voldemort all over again--"

"What? Those people are *impossible*!"

Privately, Lupin agreed. The Ministry was suffering from a bad case of denial when it came to things associated with Voldemort. He watched as Gerad and co. left via Portkey, bickering as usual, before turning back to Sirius.

"You know, if we knew those guys when we were in Hogwarts--" Sirius began.

"Hogwarts might not even be standing where it is now, I know," Lupin finished. "Padfoot, don't mind me saying, but you're as damp as a wet dog right now . . ."

"Dumbledore's got another job for me," Sirius said when he was dry and they were seated indoors in front of the fireplace. "And you too . . ."

"Hmmm, I think we need to start with giving you a shave," Lupin said after Sirius had told him just what it entailed. Of course, Sirius would never say no to this sort of opportunity that Dumbledore was offering . . .

"A shave?" Sirius fingered his beard--he had obviously had it for so long that it was practically a part of him. "This beard's been through everything with me, Moony," he said in a mock-tragic tone. "Azkaban, being on the run, fires, ungrateful cats--"

"It got a little singed too," Lupin pointed out.

"Saved my face too, it did," Sirius continued blithely. "Oh well . . . farewell, facial hair--I shall miss you. You will always have a place in my mind if not my face--"

"*And* a haircut," Lupin said, fighting the urge to laugh. Sirius was actually regaining his old sense of humour even during a time like this.

"Should I write a soliloquy for my hair too?"

* * * * * * * * * * * *

__

The author swears that "Heart of Darkness" would be the last fic she ever sends out without sending it through a proof-reader (yep, it was awful): Firstly, big thanks to my beta-reader Earthwalk! She saved me from my typo-demons! So what do you think? Were the conversations too long-winded? Improvements?

Now I can get on to rambling and you guys can switch off if you're bored. I just got back from a field trip two weeks ago--we unintentionally proved Murphy's Law on the journey to our destination. It was *hell* (which is now defined as being stranded in the middle of the ocean without petrol, without a loo and people doing Titanic impressions)--that doesn't half make you want to write angsty fic . . . and those bits should be the next few parts where Snape dodges traffic on Memory Lane.

(Hagrid's adventures during this time will be told in another fic "Among Giants" because there wasn't enough room in here for a subplot of that size--lame pun intended. Help--I'm suffering from Multiple Fics Syndrome!)

All HP-related characters and the HP-universe in general belongs to J. K. Rowling except for those invented to get the plot moving.

Larissa Mau is © Eline (Rheow) and Andrea L. C. (Mooky De Madde) from earlier fanfics in another fandom far, far away. Reusable characters are *fun* (not to mention eco-friendly).


	2. Part Two

The Reckoning

By Eline

In the aftermath of the fire at Hogsmeade, sixty-seven people were left homeless. Dumbledore, in his capacity as headmaster of Hogwarts, had offered temporary sanctuary to the villagers.

Sixty-seven people were fairly easy to accommodate in a school that normally housed hundreds of students during term time. The Ministry-employed engineers had projected that the repairs in Hogsmeade would be complete in time for the start of the new term.

Severus Snape was one person who was displeased with this arrangement. But as he seemed chronically displeased with the world at large, no one made much of it at all.

The reason for his discomfiture did not lie in the sixty-seven strangers underfoot. Any Hogwarts teacher would have learned patience the hard way after a few years of dealing with the students. It was a far more irking matter . . .

He had returned from another day of sweeping the Forbidden Forest and working out the new defences for Hogwarts in a nasty mood. As his job involved interacting with Sirius Black and Remus Lupin, his temper had been sorely tested to the limit. But an even worse surprise had awaited him that day.

There had been a young witch and wizard waiting for him in his office. He knew them at once--Kelly Slater and Geoffrey Bannon, two aspiring Death Eaters who had survived the rather intense weeding exercise in Romania. They had insinuated themselves with the refugees from Hogsmeade and gained entrance to Hogwarts in one brilliant stroke--no doubt engineered by Voldemort himself.

"The Dark Lord sent us to learn and to be of service," Bannon had told him. They were there to spy out the defences for Voldemort. They also had a list of poisons they were to collect from him--Voldemort intended to wring the most out of him, spy or not.

That had been a simply infuriating crimp in the overall plan. Dumbledore and the others had been informed about the pair of them. It had taken a lot of his self-control *not* to agree with Sirius Black when he had suggested turning the both of them into cabbages--for all they knew, the cabbages might have made more efficient Death Eaters. Slater and Bannon were merely glorified errand-boys for the relaying of messages and information--and they had to *stay* that way.

Snape knew for a fact that Slater and Bannon were not going to be much of a threat against trained wizards who were aware of their identities and on their guard against them. It had been decided that supplying misinformation was better than cutting off Voldemort's sources of intelligence completely. This meant that Snape had to babysit the two of them while working on the external defences. He set them collecting Death Caps, hemlock and foxglove in the Forbidden Forest while he performed the spells for the Primary Defence Ward.

*Tried* to perform anyway. The spell required a number of powerful wizards positioned at various compass points--and that included Black and Lupin. For some reason, Dumbledore had paired him up with Sirius Black for this task. During the fire at Hogsmeade, the situation had been too tense to risk their non-co-operation, but this time around, the headmaster was prepared to chance it.

Oh, he knew what the headmaster was trying to do . . . But wasn't going to work--their animosity was too deeply entrenched.

The Primary Defence Ward over the school proper and most of the grounds was to be an enchantment strong enough to repel spells, curses, freak storms and creatures summoned from other dimensions. The sheer strength and magnitude of this spell required a heavy price though--it was to be tied to the life force of the wizard performing the spell. Dumbledore had assigned eight wizards/witches to spread the burden. They had been very careful about it--each wizard knew only one other member of the eight, namely the partner at his own compass point. Or at least they *should* only know one other member--some choices were blatantly obvious.

Snape was fairly certain that Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall and Remus Lupin were also in the final eight, but the identities of the other three were still a mystery. That was an advantage--Voldemort would not know everything because Snape himself would not be privy to all the secrets. As long as one of the eight lived, the spell would hold.

But first, they had to set up the Ward in time for the new term.

They had been at it for three mornings in a row already, but still the spell would not catch.

Snape knew what the problem was--it was mainly himself and Black.

The spell required two wizards at each compass point working in unison, but their mutual antipathy was spilling over and ruining all hope of any proper synchronisation. Their magic seemed incompatible even though such a spell would have been perfectly manageable in any other circumstances. The first morning, they had exercised a considerable amount of vocabulary in insulting each other. The second morning was the same, if a little more succinct. Today had seen them both glaring daggers at each other while barely even exchanging a word at either end of the Northern spell circle in the Forest. He had been fighting the desire to use a few prohibited hexes--and he *did* know a lot of them--all morning. Black probably harboured similar intentions by the way he was glowering at him.

Naturally, it had not succeeded. Dumbledore had stepped in to inform them that they could stop trying.

There was a strained silence before Black turned to go and Snape departed in the opposite direction. But he found Dumbledore walking beside him through the tangled woods.

"Severus, when I said that you had to work together . . ."

"It won't work, headmaster."

"Have you tried, Severus? Have you ever considered an alternative to blind hatred?" Something in that calm voice infuriated him to no end. There was no way he or Black could see past the enmeshed enmity of the tangled past.

"Trying counts for nothing . . ."

Indeed--a part of him was wilfully refusing to see the necessity. As long as he sub-consciously held onto his old prejudices, nothing would change.

Dumbledore sighed. "In your case perhaps . . . But I know you are capable of it." 

"You imagine me to be a more forgiving man, Professor," he ground out. "You think I can be one of them . . . one of those selfless, sentimental fools who want to spit in Voldemort's face. You want me to be someone I am *not*." He knew was not brave--not really brave enough to face up to those expectations.

Dumbledore looked at him in that placid manner that irked him for some reason. It was as though he was hearing his arguments but not really *heeding* them. Snape was petrified--the old fears were resurfacing again . . . Death would be his lot if he was lucky--it was only a matter of time before Voldemort disposed of him. He was a dead man walking--couldn't Dumbledore tell? Every tired nerve within him wanted to flee--to abandon this fool's mission lest the pain come again . . . as a precursor to the end.

Snape did not want to be reasonable, kind or understanding. He only wanted to be left alone to his own devices. He took a deep breath to regain a measure of calm. "I am not that man," he said before turning away to leave--but not before he heard Dumbledore's last words.

"But I *have* seen him before, Severus--you just have to know where to look."

That was more irking than anything else. He swept back to the castle in a thoroughly foul mood.

Upon entering the Potions classroom, he found the baskets of freshly picked ingredients where they were supposed to be. He examined the harvest with critical eye.

_Well, at least those two had got the right Death Caps . . ._

A noise distracted him from his perusal of the baskets. It seemed to be coming from the closet in which the spare cauldrons and rusty old tripods were kept. Was it the mice again? He had laid down some really potent anti-vermin charms just last month--

The sound came again--only this time, it sounded like a moan accompanied by the rustle of cloth.

_Now this was too much . . ._

Tight-lipped, he strode over and flung the closet door open.

The sudden silence that followed managed to convey whole volumes of embarrassment along with the mortifying sensation akin to that of getting caught by a teacher. Which was, in fact, the case despite the obvious age differences between Slater, Bannon and his students.

"Much as I applaud your efforts at keeping warm down here," he said frostily to the pair on the floor, "I would like to remind you that you are here to observe and learn . . . Not act like a pair of cats in heat!"

And he slammed the door shut, leaving them to scramble about awkwardly for their robes.

But it didn't make him feel better--it never did. He entered his office, trying to focus on what he had to do.

_The nerve of some people . . . In his Potions classroom too--_

He halted his train of though abruptly. There he was again--thinking like a *teacher*! He was supposed to be a Death Eater again, but he thought like a teacher and missed Hogwarts after being away for a few days. It was *insufferable* . . .

With an impatient flick of his wand, several grimoires flew off the shelves and landed on his desk. He should be getting started--there was still the Potion for the werewolf to make. Dumbledore had requested it of him.

Currently, Snape did not know who he hated more--Black or Lupin. He had kept that wretched wolf alive until rescue was possible--which was probably balanced out by those sessions in Voldemort's torture chamber--and he wanted nothing more to do with him. Only the urgency of the current situation had pressed him into the unwanted service--he was, after all, just a tool or a pawn to be used. He supposed that he should be so lucky that both sides were merely asking him to supply potions . . . and highly illegal poisons to boot.

There was a very simple reason why none of the Auror raids over the years had produced anything incriminating in his store of books and potions--he had kept them hidden someplace else. It had been a stupid thing to do--like hanging onto the mask. But it had helped when he returned to the ranks--everyone had secreted their Death Eater paraphernalia somewhere as though they had expected the Dark Lord to return. And he *had* come back in full-strength.

Voldemort's expectations were higher now--he had requested some of the most potent poisons known to the world. Snape had the means to make them--the forbidden books and suspicious ingredients were all safely hidden away . . .

In a place he had not gone back to for fourteen years.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

In an equally dark mood, Sirius Black strode back to the lodge in the Forbidden Forest. Associating with Snape had left them both at their worst. Fortunately, Sirius's temper subsided relatively quickly after leaving Snape's presence and he was feeling only a little resentful that Dumbledore had pushed them into working with each other.

When he got there, Lupin was already there, seated at the table as he leafed through a number of yearbooks and albums.

They had been trying to repair the damage that Azkaban had wreaked on his memory before Dumbledore had summoned them back to assist in the clash in Romania. Sirius's happiest memories had been the first to go of course, but Lupin said that there was a theory that Dementors could not truly steal those away, only make the victim believe that they was gone for good. Those memories *should* still be within him if he could remember who he was and who his friends were. He had saved most of them by reverting to his Animagus form at the worst times, so all they had to do was to jog his memory. Theoretically speaking, of course--no prisoner in the history of Azkaban had ever survived to try therapy before.

It *did* seem to be working though. Once they got that settled, there would be the matter of the Patronus Charm--he was damned if he was going to fall prey to Dementors again. Sirius had a wand now--a replacement for the one the Ministry had destroyed. But presently, his mood was neither tuned to "happy" or "nostalgic".

"Not again, Sirius?" Lupin would have known about it by the time their spell had failed to meld with the other three to complete the Ward.

Sirius growled under his breath as he flung himself into a chair. "It's impossible, Moony--Snape probably hates me more than James right now for what happened last year and I'm not feeling very chummy towards someone who tried to give me to the Dementors either! Given the chance--the slightest provocation--why, we would've duelled right there and then!"

That was the unfortunate truth of the matter. Only the headmaster's expectations of them had stopped them short of strangling each other with their bare hands. Dumbledore had that effect--people tended to want to live up to his expectations, bone-deep antipathy notwithstanding.

"We're running out of time," Lupin said, not accusingly but worriedly. Voldemort's inclusion of two spies in Hogwarts was bad enough--who or what could penetrate Hogwarts' antiquated defences next? "Maybe we could set up another kind of ward that isn't so demanding . . ."

"Like that Discerning Repulsion Spell you told me about?" It was an old spell designed to keep out persons of questionable character favoured in the past by rather melodramatic wizards of the labyrinth-and-maze-setting-variety. "That would probably mean the whole of Slytherin House won't get past the front gate!" Sirius snorted.

"Not necessarily," Lupin said as he flipped open an album in search of something. "Let me show you something--it should come as a surprise . . . I know *I* was surprised when I found out a couple of years back . . ."

Sirius leaned over to get a better look. Their Hogwarts days had been as good a place to start as any when they had first attempted to fill in the holes his memories. He had spotted the Connelly twins in the photos of Gryffindor seniors a year older than their cohort--as he had not known them very well back then, it was not that significant a memory gap. Lupin pointed at one face in a picture of the Gryffindor Quidditch team line-up (1976).

"Remember Anya Andrei?"

Piqued, Sirius leaned over. "Anya . . . yes--she was two years our junior, wasn't she?" Sirius asked as he thought back to happier times. Anya . . . Anya Deya Andrei--a girl whom the term "spitfire" had been clearly invented for. "She was a replacement Seeker and Chaser for our house team when she joined us. Became a Chaser for three years, then Seeker after we left Hogwarts."

"Trust you to remember all the details pertaining to Quidditch," Lupin said. "You might remember that Anya made a rather unusual friend."

"Oh . . . wait--I'm getting there. Some girl from another house. Slytherin--right?" Sirius' brow furrowed--it had been such a long time ago . . . At least for him it was--his stay in Azkaban had been one long horrifying eternity without hope. 

"Right. And?" Lupin prompted.

"And she was a new girl--transferred in from someplace," Sirius said slowly. The memories were still in his head--he just had to find them. "That was our sixth year and Anya's fourth, right? I remember that she was strange for a Slytherin . . . Fairly short but she could swear like anything and had a temper like a--" He stopped abruptly. Now he *did* remember what Anya's friend had looked like. "Kailing? *That* was Kailing?"

Lupin nodded. "Yes--that was her. Most notorious for losing her temper and shoving--"

"Morris Borgenholt though a window--yes, I remember that one . . ." Hardly anyone from the first year to the seventh could have forgotten *that* incident. Gryffindor had been practically assured the House Cup that year because Slytherin lost a hundred and twenty points--sixty from each party involved in the scrap. 

"Hah--I don't wonder why she was permanently ticked off--she got put into *Slytherin* after all. I always said the Sorting Hat was a few stitches short of a seam," Sirius said. "I bet she only got put in there because of her Animagus or something like that." The truth was that Kailing's temper had more to do with suppressing the urge to transform into a four-hundred-metre long dragon than anything else. Being stuck with the Slytherins could hardly have made things any better.

"And shoving Borgenholt through the window?"

"It was a first floor window, I remember," Sirius said, clearly a supporter of anyone who had helped his house in any way. "He didn't break any bones--"

"Kailing was the one with the broken wrist-bone." 

"It figures--Borgenholt was six feet tall and twenty stone for goodness sake!" Sirius paused, rather pleased that he still could remember those details. "I tell you, that Hat makes funny judgement calls sometimes."

"So you said before . . ." Lupin looked down at his tea. Sirius knew he was thinking about Peter Pettigrew.

"It's all right, Moony--we were all wrong about him."

"We were all wrong about each other. I *did* suspect you . . ."

"You had doubts about my innocence?" Sirius said, pretending to be hurt. But that did nothing to dispel the tension in the air.

"I had doubts all the time--it wasn't exactly a very easy time for anyone," Lupin said softly. "I suppose it was after reading about the thirteen people who were killed . . . I was thinking of the time you got thrown off the Quidditch team," Lupin admitted.

"Oh . . . *that*." Sirius winced inwardly--he remembered that incident. Not his best moment--far from it in fact . . . He had gone for the Beater of the Slytherin with his club after a really bad foul on James that the referee had missed. To most people, it would have looked as though he had gone berserk. The Slytherin Beater had gone to the hospital wing with a broken arm and Sirius had been thrown off the team--it was either that or lose seventy points for Gryffindor.

"But I shouldn't have let that influence me, Sirius--I *should* have trusted my gut instincts." That usually meant the wolf--Moony was always skittish when it came around to issues concerning his lycanthropy.

"I love your guts, Remus--at least they believed in my innocence. As for the rest of you, well . . ."

"Sirius, can't you let me unburden myself in peace for once?" Lupin asked. But he was trying hard not to smile. Sirius had that effect on people in the past--he was recovering his charm along the way now. Sirius would be his irrepressible self again around the same time the female half of the population started making calf-eyes at him. Or perhaps not--Azkaban was not something anyone ever forgot in a hurry.

"Certainly--unburden away, oh angsty one."

"Hmph--I think I'll skip over the extended version of the apology I had in mind then."

"Oh good--you know I simply hate long speeches."

"Now, I want to know why you suspected *me*."

Sirius felt his smile vanish halfway. "Sorry, Moony--I got wind of something that just overrode the old gut instinct back then," he said, his tone heavy with regret.

"What? The werewolves on Voldemort's side?" Lupin guessed shrewdly.

"Yes . . . I told myself you wouldn't be one of them--but I wasn't that sure." Sirius fiddled with his teacup. "And you were absent for long stretches back then . . . I was more than a little suspicious."

"I don't blame you really--I was trying to find those werewolves to join them," Lupin said.

Sirius could only stare. "You *what*?"

"I was trying to infiltrate them, Sirius--don't look so shocked," Lupin said calmly. "But as it turned out, too many of the Death Eaters might have recognised me from Hogwarts--so I got pulled out of that scheme."

"Moony, is this another one of those things you haven't got around to telling me?" Sirius asked in exasperation. "You weren't working for the Ministry, they wouldn't go near werewolves with a ten-foot wand--it was W.E.R.E.S., wasn't it?" Lupin nodded and Sirius leaned back thoughtfully. He never thought that Remus Lupin would have done anything like *that* . . . but then he realised that it *was* the sort of thing a Marauder would do.

It made his shame even harder to bear. There was something he had not wanted to admit . . .

"Moony, I have to--"

"It's all over now, Padfoot--water under the bridge."

"No, Moony--I just want to say that I wasn't all that fine with the whole werewolf thing after all." There--it was out now. "Because if I had been totally objective, I wouldn't have suspected you in the first place."

Sirius was not proud of his weakness. Wizards had always been taught that werewolves were not good for anyone's continued health. They were taught that they were secretive and feral and they ate babies for breakfast. It had been so easy to assign them labels--sort of like fairytale monsters . . . Even though Remus Lupin had been one of his best friends, there had still been a small corner of his mind that had whispered _"He's a *werewolf*"_ insidiously all through those dark, paranoid times.

He waited for Lupin's reaction. But Lupin never blinked. "Sirius, I *knew* that. I knew from a very young age that very few wizards are actually fully comfortable around werewolves. You might not remember, but I can still recall the look on all three of your faces when you found out about my dark little secret," Lupin said without rancour. 

That, Sirius realised with a pang of guilt, had probably hurt Remus a lot more than anyone realised. But he had been shoving all his emotions under the metaphorical carpet along with his rather hairy secret back then--they had not thought very kindly of his secretiveness at all.

"And you probably looked back and remembered what a flaming liar I had been in the first year--I could've done it again," Lupin continued steadily. "You were right though--I didn't tell you about what I was doing. W.E.R.E.S. was in its infancy back then--not really anything more than an idea in Gerad's head.

"It was formed not just to protect were-creatures--it was also to keep them clear of influences like Voldemort. You have no idea how easy it was for Voldemort to win some of them over--they had nothing to lose back then and they have nothing to lose right now except the kind of miserable existence you wouldn't even wish on Severus Snape."

Sirius was slightly taken aback by the quiet vehemence in his old friend's tone. It was true that most people didn't give a damn about werewolves--just as long as they didn't turn up in the neighbourhood and kept away from decent folk. Otherwise . . . well, the stories from a few decades back were no less horrifying than those medieval werewolf trials of yore.

Voldemort probably had a field day recruiting werewolves along with the giants, vampires and ghouls. Seeking out the ones the wizards had exiled, ostracised and displaced . . . It was based on the principle that your enemy's enemy was your ally and Voldemort had simply exploited it to the fullest.

"I was quite lucky though . . . I had friends," Lupin said, looking ready to fall back into nostalgia mode again.

"You were still a mopey little git in school though," Sirius said.

"Was I? I thought you and James cured me of that?"

"Hardly--you were *slightly* more fun to be around, but you looked like you had the weight of the whole world on your shoulders most of the time."

"Really?"

"Yeah--it was dead pretentious. We thought you were going to start wearing black and compose goth poetry at one point."

"Goth poetry . . . Sirius!" Now Lupin knew that he wasn't being serious at all.

"No, *honestly*! You acted angstier-than-thou all the time!" Sirius said, before they had to laugh.

It felt good to be able to make people laugh again. Sirius had been trying his utmost to erase the effects of Azkaban for his new assignment, but some scars never healed. His eyes in the mirror every morning were still shadowed--those harrowing years had left their mark on him like a brand.

"I was thinking," he started again after they had sobered up.

"You're having me on again--"

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Don't be contrary, Moony--that's my job. As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, it's about time I started taking this godfathering business more seriously."

"You're doing a wonderful job for a fugitive supposedly on the run."

"But I should check up on him more often, watch his Quidditch matches--well, he knows I did that . . . Maybe I should get him a belated birthday present," Sirius said. It had been a rather busy time around the end of July--what with the Death Eaters popping out of the woodwork and everything--and he only managed to send Harry a card and a sizeable chocolate cake. He *had* been intending to take his godson out on a holiday to Egypt or St. Tropez--goodness knew Harry had not had many enjoyable vacations with his Muggle relatives. 

They normally left him at home in the care of the neighbour, Mrs. Figg. Unknown to the Muggles, Mrs. Figg and her immediate family were witches carefully positioned on Privet Drive to keep an eye on Harry. But Harry was practically untouchable while he was with his relatives because of the old enchantment that bound his safety to their physical proximity, so Sirius had let things bide. 

At this very moment, however, his godson was staying with the Weasleys for the holidays--a state of affairs that Sirius found much more to his liking. Harry should be having fun like a normal boy and socialising with wizards his age. 

"So . . ." Lupin looked like he was fishing around for the right words. "You want to go *shopping*? Hmmm, it would be a good opportunity to test your disguise. I think it can definitely pass muster now . . ."

Indeed--they had been working hard at it. No magical aids or cumbersome Polyjuice Potion involved--just a flat out attempt at making Sirius look like a normal person instead of an escaped ex-convict with dead eyes. 

"Wonderful--we'll also have the chance to find out if people'll run away screaming from me on sight." But there was no risk of that now--even Professor Dumbledore had said that the Ministry would be hard put to identify him.

"It's no light matter, Sirius--Voldemort's side knows about your Animagus," Lupin said. That meant that Sirius could be no longer be an inconspicuous spy with Death Eaters on the look-out for a large black dog.

"Take all the fun out of it if you like--I'm the one who's trying to be human again. I'm thinking of starting small--Diagon Alley perhaps," Sirius said flippantly.

"I know someone who could arrange that . . ." Lupin murmured thoughtfully, completely ignoring Sirius's startled exclamation. 

* * * * * * * * * * * *

The old house was more of a cottage--a small rustic one standing in the middle of its own tangled forest of rhododendrons. It had lain abandoned for years now, but the villagers still called it the Witch's House.

After wrestling with the front-gate--now overgrown with creepers--Severus Snape re-entered his childhood home. How long had it been since he had walked these familiar paths?

A lifetime ago, it seemed. It seemed longer--probably because landmarks in his life were usually marked by death.

Severus Snape had lived here with his grandmother--and Julian, of course._ How could he forget Julian?_ The two newest graves after his parents. He had not turned up for the funerals--his grandmother had had a stroke a month after Julian's death.

Striding past the herb garden--growing wild now--he was reminded of another day, years ago, when it had all begun . . .

_It had been a warm summer day and they were out in the garden because their gran was busy._

Severus had been told to keep his three-year-old--nearly four actually--brother occupied. He had enough self-preservation to know that his gran would be most put out with him if he tried experimenting with his brother. It was going to be a boring afternoon . . .

"Burd," Julian said suddenly, pointing at the sky.

Indeed, there was a bird winging its way towards the cottage. It was an owl. Their gran seldom received much mail--letters were a source of general excitement just for their rarity value.

But the owl did not head for the kitchen where their gran was. Instead, it flew down to where the two boys were and held out its leg imperiously.

Severus untied the envelope and realised that it was addressed not to his gran, but to *him*.

"Gran! I've got a letter!"

He remembered the sound of their shoes clattering on the floor as they ran indoors. Right down this corridor with the low ceiling to the kitchen--

_"Gran!"_

"What is it?" asked their grandmother--a thin stick of a witch with greying hair that resembled a dandelion before you blew off all the fluffy seeds. She brewed potions and simples--not for a living but as a hobby and for her friends as favours. "Did Julian skin his knees again?"

"No--an owl came with a letter for me!" He had been expecting such a letter for ages now.

They had sat down in the kitchen at the big table gran used to prepare meals before opening the letter. The excitement he felt had seemed to be infectious . . .

_"I think you're going to enter a new phase of life soon," said his gran with a twinkle in her eyes as she watched him read the letter._

"It's from the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," he read. "With booklists and everything . . ."

"Hogwarts?" Julian asked, trying to look at his older sibling's letter.

"That's right, Hogwarts--the best school for wizards in Britain. We'll have to go down to London to get your brother's school things," their gran said with a smile. She had always known that her grandchildren would be wizards--Severus had shown so much promise even at a young age. He had gone through all her spell books already and he was already showing a flair for identifying herbs and plants whenever they went out collecting potions ingredients. 

Snape returned to his old room under the eaves--the furniture was still there, covered in dust-cloths and cobwebs. He did not even need the dim light that filtered in through the stained and dirty windows to find his way around--he knew it like the back of his hand.

_After the initial excitement had wound down, he had gone back to his room because he had wanted to be alone to think._

Hogwarts--he was going to wizard school at last . . .

There were no other wizards his age in the area. The Muggle boys from the village nearby had called his gran's cottage the Witch's House--which was all too accurate yet fairly harmless because the adults had never believed a word of it--and Severus and Julian used to get teased. Severus had found those boys a rough, noisy lot--hardly the sort he could talk to about wizardry. Not that he was allowed to talk about wizardry to Muggles anyhow.

He sometimes wished that he could teach those boys a thing or two with his magic whenever they trampled his gran's herb patch while on one of their dares--the perennial favourite had been run-up-to-the window-of-the-Witch's-House-and-run-out-again. But then he had contented himself with the fact that they were probably so stupid and gormless that they wouldn't amount to much in the end. As for himself . . . well, he was going to be a wizard.

His late grandfather had spoken about Muggles as people to be pitied. They would never know what magic was--what power was. His grandmother was strangely non-committal about the subject . . .

Snape shoved aside his old bed and worried loose the panel set at the foot of the wall. This had been the place where he had hidden his secrets . . .

__

Like the grimoires from his gran's private collection--the ones he wasn't supposed to touch. But he had borrowed them anyway without her consent or knowledge, reasoning to himself that knowledge was knowledge after all.

Severus had learned all sorts of interesting things from them. He was willing to bet that no other first year student would know as much as he did. His gran wouldn't be disappointed at him for borrowing those books if he topped the class, would she?

The collection of tomes in that secret compartment at present would have made his grandmother's previous store of forbidden knowledge look about as harmless as the recipes in _Witches' Weekly_. There was the prohibited _Grimoire Fellis_, the antique copy of _Codex Venenum_ that had cost him a small fortune and even a rare but not very useful copy of _Libellus Veneficus_ (published in 127 AD). 

For hexes and curses, he had a very tatty but still intact first edition of _Dark Arts Illuminated_ and the unedited version of _Curses: Ancient, Medieval and Modern_. A bulky old leather scrip contained a number of small vials and jars of hard to find (not to mention banned) ingredients--all sealed with Anti-Disintegration Charms against the passage of time. One certainly couldn't get the humors of a giant's eye or bile from a centuar's gut by walking into a shop these days . . . 

Packing his precious cargo of contraband literature and proscribed substances away into a spelled carrier that was a lot larger on the inside than it appeared from the outside, he prepared to leave. He remembered to cover up all traces of his visit and he *should* have left right there and then, but the perverse desire to revisit his past took over.

_It was only human to obsess about the past._

He went out through the backdoor to the yard area fronting the now weed-ridden kitchen garden. There were handprints on the back wall--and they had been made by more than one pair of hands.

_How do people forget about their younger brothers anyway?_

It hadn't been that hard, frankly speaking--he had been seven years older than his younger brother. Julian never knew about his parents--he had been six months old when the accident happened. Julian seemed to be an appendix that fate had tacked on to his life. After going to Hogwarts, he had practically no communication with his brother at all.

__

But that was an excuse, wasn't it?

There was a grave in the corner of the yard--a grave for Julian's pet rabbit. He even remembered the name of that rabbit . . . Apollo--a grand name for a small bundle of black and white fur. It had been the first creature he had had slain using a proscribed curse.

_It was the day before he would leave for Hogwarts. Severus had a wand now. Twelve inches, oak and dragon's heartstring. He was itching to do something with it before the school term started--just to prove to himself that he could do real magic. His gran was in the village visiting a friend and Julian was napping--he was alone and he had some time to experiment. _

Looking about for a likely subject, he spied the rabbit in its little pen at the corner of the garden.

"Accio Rabbit!"

He was pleased when Apollo rose from the ground and flew into his hands. Placing the bemused rabbit back into the pen, he decided to try another spell . . . The Imperious Curse.

But it had not worked. He had gotten frustrated by the lack of success. Then he tried the Cruciatus Curse.

Apollo continued hopping about in an annoyingly aimless way.

In exasperation, he pointed his wand at it and snapped, "Avada Kedavra!"

There was a sickly flash of green light and a rushing noise--

The rabbit had flopped over, motionless.

Severus was very surprised at first, A cautious check told him that it was well and truly dead. He was elated--Avada Kedavra was a very advanced spell for a wizard his age to perform.

After the initial euphoria, he suddenly realised what he had done.

He had never admitted to it--his gran and Julian thought Apollo had been frightened by a fox or had died of a sudden illness. They had buried Apollo where his pen had been.

It was a little too late to feel sorry for it, but he had not been sorry all those years ago--and he was not feeling particularly remorseful now.

Turning his back on the past, he set out again. There was still work to be done.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

The author keeps posting these annoying little ramblings at the bottom of each fic: Whew . . . Eight pages of nothing but monologues, flashbacks and two-people-conversations--with luck, it won't sound too boring. I can't help it--my conversations tend to be dreadfully long-winded. The next bit won't be so long in the writing--I finished most of my wretched essays and the Semester's ending soon . . . 

Many thanks to Earthwalk, beta-reader without compare and wonderful fanfic author in her own right. (I strongly recommend her HP fics!)

All HP-related characters and the HP-universe in general belongs to J. K. Rowling except for those invented to get the plot moving.

Any plot-holes and plot-devices shall henceforth be attributed to _Deus ex Machina_. 

No cute, fluffy bunnies were hurt during the writing of this fic--however, a lot of potato chips were consumed in the process.

Feedback? Reviews? Criticisms?

* * * * * * * * * * * *


	3. Part Three

The Reckoning

By Eline

The mixture in the flask simmered gently. It could not be allowed to over-boil--not if the potion-brewer wanted to leave the room alive and in one piece.

It was three in the morning but the torches still burned brightly in the small preparation room adjacent to Severus Snape's office. The concoction required his constant attendance and he was hardly in a mood to sleep while preparing illegal potions anyhow.

The yellowed pages of the grimoire crackled in the still air as he perused his collection of forbidden spells and potions. It had been a long time since he had first familiarised himself with these enchantments, but he had a good memory and all he had to do was to revise . . .

Ironically, he was working like the student he had been. As a youth, he had been particularly good at Potions and the Dark Arts.

And _Dark Arts_ did not just mean vampires and werewolves in his case. There were spells to deal with vampires and werewolves. There were no spells to defend against _Avada Kedavra_. He had studied ancient killing curses and death hexes in the Advanced D.A.D.A. classes for his N.E.W.T.s and as a Death Eater, he had had the chance to practise them.

He only had the opportunity to experiment with his potions on creatures other than rodents when he had been a Death Eater. That had been another thing he seldom regretted. What was the *point* of having all this knowledge if it was not to put to use in some way?

As a boy, he had not suffered from high expectations. In fact, he had no expectations to live up to beyond the ones he had unconsciously imposed on himself. His grandfather had told him that knowledge was power and it had seemed rather logical to him even at that stage in his life. Knowing more put you at an advantage, after all. So, the boy Severus had put his all into learning . . .

It turned out to be the one thing he was good at after he had entered Hogwarts. That, and a flair for potions. But it was merely a matter of having a keen eye and very steady hands . . . 

A soft gurgle interrupted his reverie. The vapours from the flask had condensed in the distilling apparatus set up to receive them. A Cooling Charm blanketed the array of twisted glass tubing to ensure that the steam would form the required distillate--it was lethal to breath even the slightest whiff of the vapour. Snape had a vial ready to catch the first drops of _Nectar Nex_, and the stopper for sealing up the precious stuff. 

Just a matter of having a keen eye and very steady hands . . .

Despite his unwillingness for this task, he nevertheless enjoyed the challenge. It took his mind off the other, less pleasant aspects of his role as a double agent.

It had been two weeks since the last time Voldemort had summoned the Death Eaters. He had a deadline to meet and some serious prying to do if he was going to find anything of use. That meant going along with the next assignment and the one after that, being servile and enthusiastic as . . . as he had been once.

No--that was his just ego talking. Given a chance, he would have gone back to the fold willingly--the power had been intoxicating. He had belonged, his talents had been appreciated and damn it if the euphoria of having such power wasn't just a little heady. But that world belonged to someone else now--not the Potions Master who was such a stickler for the rules that defined his sophistic little sphere.

On the other metaphorical hand, it had been life on a knife's edge. What he had done would have earned him a life sentence in Azkaban. And this kind of potion alone was worth a heavy ten-year sentence if he remembered correctly. 

_Oh, and let's not forget His Nibs and his wand-happy ways._ Give Voldemort an excuse--any excuse--and he'd come down on a Death Eater in a way that made Azkaban look like a pleasant walk in the park.

He had been away from Voldemort's influence for a little too long. It always made him cocky. There was nothing like a good healthy dose of gut-clenching fear to remind him that most mayflies had higher life expectancies than he did. And that had been *before* he had turned on the Dark Lord.

Did he dare remember what usually happened to Death Eaters who failed one time too many? 

Death if they were lucky.

Sometimes wishing very hard for death if they were extremely unlucky.

It was never pretty. And all one could do was stand there and watch as the unfortunate Death Eater writhed, screamed, drooled, gibbered and howled before death or insanity took over.

The floodgates damming up those unwanted but very clearly recorded memories opened on their own accord.

_There was the Gauntlet . . ._

Whenever Voldemort was bored, or whenever he wanted a little show of cruelty, there was the Gauntlet, his own special punishment for Death Eaters who were unfit to lick his boots anymore.

_Twin rows of Death Eaters, stretching out across the chamber before the Dark Lord. Watching. Waiting._

Like the metaphorical and medieval origins of this particular endeavour, it was a trial. A trial of endurance. A mockery of a trial because endurance did not mean survival.

_It was simple. (In the way that escaping a man-eating tiger was simple. In theory alone.) All the Death Eater had to do was make it to the end of the Gauntlet._

If they made it to the end of the line, it would be _Avada Kedavra_--one, two, three and nothing more. They were the fortunate ones.

If they did not . . .

_Most Death Eaters favoured the Cruciatus Curse. Or the Mordeo Charm. And there were the really ancient but still viable Excentero Hexes if you wanted some variety._

To show how enthusiastic they were, it was the Cruciatus Curse all the way for most Death Eaters unless they had some really torturous and creative hex to use. Besides, it would put the poor git out of his misery faster . . .

__

That's what your keep telling yourself anyway.

_You didn't need to be a sadistic bastard to do this job, but it helped?_

If the Death Eater did not make it, it he or she would either be out of their minds from the pain, catatonic or unconscious. Falling unconscious halfway was considered most unsporting--that meant time-out in the torture chamber before the Killing Curse if Voldemort was feeling lenient.

The Gauntlet, Snape had long ago ascertained, was Voldemort's way of ensuring that his Death Eaters never quite lost that vicious edge. They were punishing one of their own number--it sharpened the competitiveness and distrust in the ranks. No one wanted to be the one undergoing the Gauntlet--it was always better that someone else took the blame. 

In retrospect, he had to admire the deviousness of it all. Voldemort had kept them all living in fear, kept them divided and neutralised most internal threats to his power. They had no qualms about using the Unforgivable Curses on other wizards, or any other human beings for that matter. Some of them had even developed a taste for cruelty. Unity in strength, the Dark Lord called it. 

Unity in shared bloodshed was more like it. They were bound to him by the weight of those heinous deeds. With every curse uttered, they burned more bridges--there would be no turning back after so many deaths.

As for himself . . . He remembered the first time, shortly after they had received the Dark Mark as the sign of their elevation to Voldemort's inner circle. The air had been rife with tension at that particular meeting and things got to a head because the last mission had failed.

Someone had to be the example. Voldemort liked teaching by example.

_"Crucio!"_

A scream of pain.

Repeated over and over again until it was his turn.

_He did not know this Death Eater. He did not even know his name. All he knew was that the wizard had not lived up to expectations and was not to going to live at all in a very short while._

But he had raised his wand anyway with a hand that did not shake and said the spell.

A part of him had been quaking in terror as he watched the spell take effect while the dispassionate part of his mind recorded the twitching of abused muscles and convulsions to file away for future reference.

Time usually slowed to a crawl as he anticipated the next curse. Another scream to mark the progress of the victim. And they all just stood there, counting the number of curses it took before human endurance flagged and faded away. Sometimes there was no screaming like in one particular case where the condemned had bitten his tongue out--that had been the worst. Worse than all the hopeless pleas and racking spasms put together.

It was not a dignified way to die. But no one said anything or raised a voice in protest.

_We were all cowards._

And so they had killed more often with inactivity than anything else.

Voldemort knew it all too well. If he could fool his teachers at Hogwarts all those years ago while secretly setting up his own power alliances, then he had obviously been a skilled manipulator from the start.

_The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ never gave any details, but banned copies of _The Dark Lord Triumphant_ did. 

The Dark Lord was oddly charismatic in his own way--he drew followers like flies to carrion. And why ever not? He was a true descendent of Salazar Slytherin and the most powerful Dark Wizard since Grindelwald. The power and influence he offered had been so very attractive . . .

A prickling sensation on the back of his neck alerted him to the first stirrings of magic. His wand was in his hand before he knew it and he was instantly alert, scanning the chamber warily.

The spell coalesced in the centre of the room. It was not a hex targeted at him, he realised after a moment as the magic took on a recognisable shape.

The spectral vulture was a foul looking beast--Snape almost expected to smell the rotten stench of death. It was normally a harbinger of ill tidings--namely Voldemort's orders--which never boded well for anyone.

But it spoke with his master's voice this time. "_Severus--before you come to me at our stipulated time, you will retrieve what is mine. Bring me the Portkey that was taken--it is a loose end that I do not wish to leave lying around_."

The translucent apparition spread its wings and vanished as abruptly as it had came.

Snape leaned back in his chair, cursing his overactive nerves. He was going to become as paranoid as Mad-Eye Moody at this rate. 

So Voldemort needed him to play the thief this time? That Portkey in question had to be with Dumbldore--Sirius Black would have handed it over to the headmaster after that foolhardy rush into Voldemort's lair. The only consolation he had was that he would not have to deal with Black about his latest set of orders.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

It was nearing the end of August and the weather was still relatively warm as Sirius Black and Remus Lupin made their way out of the Forest and to the school grounds proper. 

Dumbledore looked up from some paperwork as they entered his office.

"Good afternoon, you're just in time--I've just received some news. But first, there's the matter of the Ward Spell."

"It's not working out?" Sirius asked intelligently.

"I realised that, yes . . . that's why I'm taking you and Severus off this project--I hope you won't mind, Sirius."

"It's your decision, Professor--but I won't say I'm not relieved, big spells like this aren't my forte. I prefer getting down to duelling," Sirius said, feeling far from disappointed.

Dumbledore sighed. "It's a pity you and Severus are unable to resolve your differences, but time is *not* on our side right now. I take it that you're going out to the city today and may be meeting up with some old friends?"

"Yes, Professor," Lupin said. "Did something urgent come up?"

"Something came up, Remus--we just don't know what it is," Dumbledore said quietly. "A few burglaries here and there, seemingly unconnected. A handful of recent deaths, appearing to be accidental . . ."

"You think otherwise, sir?"

"After some consultation with some of the old guard, it does appear highly suspicious--but then again, some people would accuse us of being paranoid old men." Aye, that was the rub. The Ministry was not willing to admit the possibility of Voldemort and his Death Eaters on the loose. "I wonder how many lives must be sacrificed before the fears of paranoid old men are realised," Dumbledore said with an edge of bitterness that Sirius or Remus had never witnessed before in the spry old wizard.

"Well, that's up to us to prevent," said Sirius with forced cheer. "We've done a fair bit of investigating before."

"That's why I'm entrusting you with this information." He handed over a roll of parchment to Lupin. "I've sent the news to a few of my sources. Please convey this to your hard-to-find friends as well when you see them. We might make some sense out of all this after all if we have enough people looking at it from different angles."

Back in the lodge, Sirius read through the collected information, skipping over the theft reports and moving onto the list of recent deaths that had made Dumbledore suspicious.

"Lewis, Jerome--scholar . . . Ashford, Leopold--apothecary . . ." he read off the list. None of the names rang any bells. The causes of death were more interesting. "A perfectly healthy man falling down the stairs and breaking his neck . . . What are the odds of that happening in his own home?"

"*Anything* is possible . . ."

"Or a wizard choking to death on a crouton? This looks dodgy all right . . ." Sirius's instincts were telling him that there was more than met the eye here. "You're the Dark Arts expert--*are* there any hexes that can produce these kinds of results?"

"Unfortunately, yes," his friend said. "Very specific ones too. And it *could* be pure chance. If only we could get to the scene and sweep it like we used to do . . ."

"Looking for leftover traces of magic?" Sirius remembered that from the old days while they had done similar investigations in the course of their work.

Remus shook his head. "I doubt there are any traces left though. A good mopping would get rid of any traces of a jinxed stair and we can't retrieve a crouton. We better get cracking--we've got an appointment with a fireplace soon."

Conjuring up Muggle clothes to conceal under their robes was fairly simple--jeans had not gone out of style even after two decades. After a short debate over the viability of bellbottoms, they set off via Floo Powder.

One nausea-inducing trip through the Floo Network later, they arrived at a specific fireplace somewhere in the vicinity of Diagon Alley. 

This other fireplace looked like one that regularly saw a great deal of traffic if the ingrained sooty footprints on the hearth were anything to go by. Stamping off the soot on the convenient hearthrug, they stepped out into an office that was unmistakably Muggle in design from the light fixtures right down to the potted plants on the windowsill.

Or maybe not. On closer appraisal, those potted plants were an exotic hybrid species of Venus Flytrap.

"Right on time," said Larissa Mau, getting up from where she was ensconced behind a large teak desk. Like her office, she appeared normal and ordinary in Muggle office-wear--probably to make the Muggles she dealt with feel more comfortable. They were utilising her fireplace for the day's excursion because her office's location. "Oh well done--I hardly recognise him."

"That was the point of feeding him a lot of chocolate to get his weight back to normal. You think it's good enough for going out in public?" 

"Certainly--I doubt the Ministry would suspect this tactic. Want a cup of tea before you go?" she offered.

"Thanks but we should get going in case this shopping trip takes longer than expected . . . Ah-ha--I see you've got *that* bound and published already," Lupin remarked as he picked up a large book from a small stack the coffee table. It was _Debunking the Werewolf Myth_ by L. S. Werner.

"That's the first run--it'll be out by next week."

Intrigued, Sirius took up another copy. "So this is the book Dimitri was talking about?"

"Yes--that's just my pen name," she said with a shrug.

_Debunking the Werewolf Myth_ (Photographs by T. Lucas) was mainly about werewolf biology, metabolism and case studies. There was a large section on old (false) myths about lycanthropy and one whole chapter lambasting the shoddy treatment of werewolves of the past and present. All decked out in coloured photos too.

"Moony--" Sirius began after viewing a few of those pages.

"You saw . . ."

"He's on pages seven, twenty-nine, fifty-four and ninety-two," Larissa said.

Sirius could recognise his friend as a werewolf among the various pictures of other werewolves even without the aid of his Animagus' keen nose. "Well, well . . . and *someone* used to say they weren't photogenic."

"Oh, Terry says he's a *very* photogenic werewolf," Larissa said with a perfectly straight face. "Even more so with that Potion. You haven't a clue about how hard it is to get a good shot of a wolf that won't keep still."

"No doubt Terry would have more interesting stories to tell later," the werewolf in question said dryly. "But now Sirius has got to go shop for his godson's present."

"I should get him one of these books," Sirius said with a grin. "It's *educational* . . . and we can view Uncle Moony the photogenic werewolf at a safe distance all the time."

"Is he always like this?" Larissa asked after they had stopped laughing.

"Always--unfortunately."

"It's a part of my charm!" said Sirius, pretending to be wounded. "Unlike Moony here, I like to rely on more than just simple animal magnetism."

"He does get complimentary copies for being such a good sport about it," she said, handing over a wrapped package to Remus. "For tolerating all those researchers without biting any one of them."

"What, no autographed copies for good contributors?"

She made to chuck the book at his head. "Oh get out and leave an old woman to her work!"

There was no one else in the outer offices as she led them down the stairs and through the hallways to the backdoor that opened out into the wizarding section of London. "Because it's Saturday afternoon and everyone's gone to enjoy the glorious weekend," she said as she opened the door. "I was just rechecking those enrolment lists and the carpet issue."

"Flying carpets being found and used by Muggles again?"

"Hah--no such luck. We're trying to decide if ecru, taupe or mocha would look better when we re-carpet the office," she said. "So I'll see you again in . . . two hours?"

The street outside was definitely not modern day London. Wizards in coloured robes strolled past with shopping bags and broomsticks whizzed past overhead. Sirius steeled himself mentally to start walking as though nothing was wrong. It had been *years* since he had walked through the wizarding community as free man.

If he read his friend well enough, Moony was nervous about this too. But they made it to the end of the street without incident and turned into Diagon Alley.

There was no screaming yet. Witches and wizards passed him by without a second glance. Sirius began to relax. No one seemed to recognise his old face at all.

"Okay, I think we can start breathing again. No one's cowering in fear of me so far," Sirius said slowly. And maybe he could actually start living like a normal wizard again.

"Just be careful, all right? You've brought your wallet and everything?" Remus asked. 

Sirius nodded. He had Remus transfer his savings into another account a few months ago. (By some stroke of unbelievable luck, the bank had not shut down his Gringotts account after all this time.)

Naturally his friend wanted to visit the bookstores, but there were hobby shops around the corner and Sirius wandered in to see what kids did for fun these days.

Meandering around the shelves of do-it-yourself-alchemy-sets and kits of stuff that were purportedly good "for hours of fun", he looked about for something that would interest a fifteen year old.

He supposed that he could look back to his own youth for inspiration--what had he wanted? He mentally crossed out the motorcycle--Mrs Weasely would have his head. Harry was already on the house Quidditch team and he could hold his own against the Slytherins pretty well. The Marauder's Map and the Invisibility Cloak had been passed on to a new generation of Gryffindors . . . So what could he get for his godson?

Besides the real family he needed--that which Sirius could not give back to him . . .

"Still looking?" Remus was back from the bookstore with a new package under his arm.

"Do you really think Harry's into any of this stuff?" he asked, waving his hand at the shelves.

"I know he can't be that enthusiastic about DIY-potions . . . Hmmm--they *do* have a lot of stuff for junior magic users these days," Remus said as he looked dubiously at self-assembled figurine kits that came complete with animation spells. "How about a book?"

He grinned. "Why did I just *know* you were going to say that?" Moony had always been a bookworm--he even read Muggle books in his copious spare time.

"I'm being serious, Padfoot--for one thing, it'll last a lot longer than a do-it-yourself-alchemy kit and it doesn't have a tendency to blow up. Just as long as you don't get the *wrong* sort of books," he added, obviously thinking of the time Sirius had made up a trick book that could and did, in fact, explode when one got to page one hundred and forty-two.

Sirius chuckled grimly. "I'm tempted to get him one of those just to irritate the Muggles."

The other wizard chose to ignore that remark. "There's a magazine section at the back--maybe you could get him a subscription or something?"

It *was* an idea. And it would keep Harry occupied during his time with the Muggles . . . 

"Can I help you, sir?" asked a salesgirl from behind a counter of magazines as he walked by.

"Um, I'm looking for a present for my godson . . ."

"What does your godson like? Sports? Magical creatures? Do-it-at-home-alchemy?"

And it hit Sirius that he really didn't know all that much about his godson after all--his hobbies, whether he had a girlfriend, who his favourite Quidditch player was-- "He likes Quidditch," Sirius said, grasping at the one thing he was certain his godson was mad for. "Plays for his house team," he added proudly.

"There's _Quidditch Monthly_--very popular with the teenage crowd," said the salesgirl, handing him a glossy magazine with the picture of a Quidditch match in progress on the cover (Features: Victor Krum! The Wimbledon Wasps! The World's Top Ten Keepers!). "And what about a subscription for _Pandora's Box_? It's very educational if he's a student wizard."

Sirius flipped through the magazines dutifully--_Pandora's Box_ looked like something Moony would have subscribed to when he was younger. Harry would probably find it a tad dry. 

After some consideration and recommendations by the salesgirl, he filled in the forms for subscriptions for both _Quidditch Monthly_ and a magazine that featured magical creatures and interesting magical findings in an easily digestible format. Harry should be getting his first issues by owl fairly soon.

Fortunately, the salesgirl did not read the subscriber's name and address too closely--Harry's name alone was still enough to cause a mild fuss and draw the attention he did not need. Sirius winked experimentally at the salesgirl before he left the counter, causing her to blush slightly. _Oh, *that* still worked . . ._

Feeling rather chuffed now that he had successfully navigated the rigours of shopping without being recognised, Sirius decided to visit the sweet shop to get Harry and his friends a large going-back-to school-present. "They're gong to need the cheering effects of sugar soon," he predicted solemnly as they paused outside the shop to view the sweets in the window. "It's the year they're going to face the dreaded spectre of the O.W.L.s." He pretended to shudder, but he knew that they were bright kids and would do all right.

"It might just make them hyperactive--which probably amounts to the same thing anyway. So what do you propose, Mister Padfoot?"

"Well . . . how about a case of chocolate and half a ton of Every Flavour Beans, Mister Moony?"

"And a dentist to go?"

In the end, they did get a lot of chocolate and beans because "they'll need something to see them through while they're swotting".

Retracing their steps back to the block of offices, they went back in and changed their robes for Muggle jackets for their next appointment.

"That looks like a fruitful shopping trip," Larissa said when she exited the office. She had her coat and hat on and was carrying a shoulder bag. "Ready to go? You can stash your things in the broom cupboard under the stairs for the time being."

"Is it going to be a long trip?"

"No, just a little twisty--I'm stuck with picking up dinner for a lot of people . . . Nice flares, by the way," she added before opening the front door that led to the streets on the Muggle side of London.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Such meetings were always held at night for some reason--even when they were underground. Snape found himself thinking that it was all extremely absurd as they followed Peter Pettigrew--more appropriately named Wormtail--down the gloomy corridors to where the Dark Lord waited.

He had been waiting all day for sunset and the anticipation had probably given him stomach ulcers. After meeting Slater and Bannon outside Hogsmeade with the sealed casket containing enough poison to wipe out a small city, they had found the required Portkey and were currently in the subterranean catacombs that Voldemort was using as a base.

If the long-forgotten architect of these walls had been aiming for "eldritch", he would have won prizes for it. Ditto for "dank", "gloomy" and "claustrophobic". Snape never had anything against dungeons or enclosed spaces until he had come to this place. There was nothing remotely familiar or comforting about these echoing halls at all. 

The company he was in wasn't helping either. His pair of Death Eaters in-training had exhausted their store of intelligent things to say a long time ago and as for Wormtail--

He fought the urge to grind his teeth.

Wormtail--the rat had been a coward and a weakling. Now he was Voldemort's right hand wizard, elevated and rewarded for his sacrifice. It had been for the worst--Voldemort had given the little rat strength beyond his puny little dreams and the bully had emerged triumphant. 

It was *ridiculous*--there were more powerful and intelligent Death Eaters than Pettigrew. Just about everybody else for instance. Even Crabbe and Goyle had more uses than the rat--though Snape had to concede the point about their debatable intelligence.

After all this time, it still rankled that a worm like Pettigrew could get ahead while everybody else grovelled and strove to make up for their negligence. The rivalries between Death Eaters were hard to shake off--it had been practically ingrained into them from the start. 

Such things should not have mattered at all to him. But they did and *that* was even worse than envy. He did not want to be drawn back to into that vicious cycle again. 

They passed another Death Eater just outside the last threshold. Snape recognised the haughty profile of Lucius Malfoy even in the dim light. Malfoy stalked past without a word.

Voldemort was meeting them separately now? He was already stepping up the levels of secrecy--it would be harder to speak with the other Death Eaters now.

Wormtail gestured sharply. "It's your turn, Snape. You two, follow me," he snapped at Slater and Bannon. "Bring that box along too." 

The pair did not look disappointed in the least to miss out on an audience with their master. They had learned that much by now. _Unlike certain individuals who had been eagerly anticipating their first glimpse of their new leader all those years ago._

He stepped over the threshold and immediately felt the chill that he had long associated with Voldemort's presence.

"Approach, Severus," said the black-robed figure.

The required obeisance was no less irking as it had been before. No matter how much he tried to remind himself that Voldemort's schemes had not succeeded and he could not have been all that great a wizard if a child had been able to defeat him, the habitual fear always overruled his inner dissent. Voldemort could still crush him like a fly if he chose. But at least he wasn't as awe-struck as he had been in his youth . . .

"I have brought the potions you required--"

Voldemort waved one long-fingered hand negligently. "Yes, I know. And I have faith in your abilities--you would not do anything but your best."

_Praise?_ Snape was instantly on his guard. Voldemort never gave praise without good reason. The Dark Lord had something up his sleeve--probably another dubious plot. 

_If he knew that, then why did it feel so good?_

"Thank you, master."

"Now what of Hogwarts and Dumbledore's plans?"

Snape summed up the school's defences and waited for any outward signs of displeasure from Voldemort when he got to the part about Dumbledore removing him from the eight who were performing the Ward Spell.

Voldemort allowed himself the barest trace of a frown. "It is to be expected. The Muggle-loving fool would want to keep it under wraps for as long as he can. What of the Portkey?"

The unpleasant feeling in his gut was past simple gastrointestinal pains now. Voldemort spoke as though those defences were _no obstacle for him at all_. 

As for the Portkey, it was no longer in Dumbledore's possession. The headmaster had just told him that he had sent it to a safe hiding place. Snape simplified it by saying that he had not found it on the school premises.

Those red eyes had narrowed dangerously for a moment before the Dark Lord spoke again. "Then do not bother about it anymore. Do you have any news on those wizards who dared invaded my stronghold?" 

"They are the acquaintances of Sirius Black and the werewolf," Snape said, trying to sort out this confusing set of orders. _Voldemort had just told him to stop his search just like that?_

"Have you any information on their whereabouts?" A little more impatience in his tone this time.

"No, my Lord, I have no knowledge of their activities," Snape replied truthfully. After all, he had been cooped up in Hogwarts brewing potions and chasing after wizards was hardly his area of specialisation. "Should I make an attempt to find out?"

"I think not--that would arouse suspicions about our intent. Furthermore, I have another task that falls into your area of expertise, Severus," Voldemort said.

_Well, there it was--the reward for a job well done was always and unvaryingly the same: another job._

It applied to both sides of this precarious situation he had gotten himself into, observed a cynical voice in his mind.

He waited in silence as Voldemort produced a roll of parchment from one sleeve. "I want you to prepare this mixture within a month's time, Severus."

Snape scanned the instructions and the ingredients before looking up again. "I do not recognise it, master." There had been a number of rare items on the list that he had almost never seen used. What was this about then?

"You should not be able to. It is not a complete potion--it requires a few other ingredients."

At that particular tone, Snape knew better than to make another query. Voldemort expected to be obeyed with no questions asked. And he obviously did not want this potion's function to be revealed.

But there had not been a potion he had not been able to brew or discover the function of yet . . .

"Another thing, Severus--you will have enough of the Wolfsbane Potion for thirty ready by that time," Voldemort said, cutting short his ruminations. "That is all."

Snape backed out, relief and puzzlement warring for supremacy. For some reason, he had *not* incurred the Dark Lord's wrath after all despite his scanty report. And yet these new orders were confusing to say the least. 

_Unless . . . _

Unless it was *meant* to be throw him off totally.

He knew a moment of admiration for the Dark Lord's cunning. Voldemort was keeping his plans a secret even from his Death Eaters. But that boded ill for the future unless he could solve this mystery in time . . .

* * * * * * * * * * * *

W.E.R.E.S. Interlude

Larissa Mau did have a dark blue Muggle car parked outside. It was a rather small vehicle to be sure, but it seemed quite roomy inside.

"You had it enchanted," Lupin observed. Probably by the same person who had tinkered with her tape-recorder to make it work in magic-saturated environments.

"Naturally--just because I'm a Squib doesn't mean I can't take advantage of magic once in a while," she said as she started the engine. "This old bone-shaker was all I could afford. I had it fixed up properly afterwards by one of Gerad's friends."

"Isn't this a little risky? You're still a Ministry employee."

"I'll take the chance," she said as the car backed out of its parking lot and slipped into the mainstream traffic. "And I don't drive like Alix," she said, referring to her daughter's erratic steering, "so I generally don't attract any unwanted attention from both sides."

"I heard Dimitri say that *no one* drives like Alix and we should be thankful for small mercies. Gerad and the others have found somewhere to set up camp I suppose?"

"Terry's letting us have the unused room above his studio for a while. We'll have to shift in a few weeks--can't stick around one place for too long," she informed them.

"So you're all in hiding?" Sirius asked.

"Underground," Lupin corrected. "According to the Ministry laws concerning disbanded societies/organisations, having more than eight former members hanging around constitutes an illegal gathering."

"That's a tad unfair, isn't it?" 

From the driver's seat, Larissa snorted in an unladylike fashion. "You don't say?"

"But it's the best way--no one can track them when they're scattered all over the place."

"True . . . But it's more work for our Gerry." The car stopped outside an eatery. "Won't be a moment," Larissa said as she got out of the car. They repeated this several times with her popping into an Indian restaurant, a deli and Chinese restaurant for takeaway. Lupin thought that if anyone were trying to follow them, they would have been totally befuddled by now. But it paid to be cautious anyhow--they had good reason not to draw any attention to themselves.

"Well, here we are," Larissa said a short while after they had stopped at an Italian place to pick up some pizza because Sirius had evinced an interest in trying some Muggle cuisine with cheese in it.

The building they entered was only three storeys high and looked a little dated by Muggle standards. Terence Lucas opened the door in response to the doorbell and grinned.

"You made it--they're upstairs. I'm waiting for Trent and developing some of my stuff." Lupin could tell from the highly chemical smell pervading the first floor. "Check this out . . ."

He had developed some shots of a black dragon in what looked like the lake at Hogwarts.

"Is that Kailing?"

"In the scales, my friend," Terry said. "I was wondering--do you wizards have a name for this type of dragon?"

"Pacific Sea Dragon--black, hornless variety. Very rare," he replied as he had his first clear look at the dragon Animagus. "I wonder how many of them there are . . ."

"You can quiz her on the aspects of dragonhood some other day--she's not here today," Larissa said as they carted bags of takeaway upstairs. "Some others *are* coming back in after Gerry spread the word."

_Others_, Lupin knew, meant other werewolves.

"Password?" was the query that met them at the door.

"I come bearing . . . three pizzas, chicken curry, fish curry, several large submarine sandwiches and fried noodles," she said. "Now quit playing around and let us in before this lot gets cold."

"Welcome!" Gerad opened the door wide and ushered them in.

The room beyond was a bare space that had been colonised by a ragged couch, mismatched chairs and an orphaned plastic patio table. Draped over the furniture were the motley crew that made up the central committee. Edward and Dimitri were stacking a large pile of ledgers and files against one wall. A dark-haired witch he knew to be Bianca de Souza was at the table with a boxy contraption that was like a small Muggle television with a keyboard. Gerad and Caitlin were looking over her shoulder and making comments.

They were not exactly the type Remus Lupin would have wound up hanging around with . . . It seemed he had drifted into this circle by default and was, at best, a fringe member. Not that it matter.

W.E.R.E.S. was certainly . . . well, *different* from the Order and yet similar because they held to certain principles. That was why he had been drawn back in after Voldemort had been defeated and the Order disbanded.

All right, so he *had* been out of work and aimlessly searching for some direction at that time, but that didn't make much of a difference. It was always the same though--always seeking out the company of those who would have him along despite his lycanthropy.

The teaching job after he had graduated had lasted a year before someone found him out--monthly disappearances were always too obvious and some quick-witted students would notice it sooner or later. Then came the two years spent in the Order and a few months spent cleaning up after the mess Voldemort had left after he had been defeated.

Once all that was over, he had found employment in the Department of Regulation of Were-folk/Sub-humans--that was before the advent of the dreaded budget cuts--along with one Gerad Connelly, founder of W.E.R.E.S. and a bit of a radical. 

He had known Gerad from the time when he had been in the Order and the other man had been one of their recruited volunteers. As it turned out, Gerad's views were very radical indeed--W.E.R.E.S. reflected that.

They were the anti-thesis of the kind of wizard attitudes found in the Ministry. Terence Lucas's presence alone said volumes about their attitude towards Muggles. When told of Sirius's innocence, they had nodded calmly and asked him when he could drop by because they all wanted to see the chap who got out of Azkaban alive and sane. And they practically jumped at the chance to attend that first skirmish against the Death Eaters last month too. No one could fault their enthusiasm.

Now they had been tasked with tracking down the location of Voldemort's lair. 

"So how's the progress?" he asked after noting the lack of magical activity in the room as everyone broke off whatever they were doing to attack dinner.

Larissa grinned. "I'll show you." She led the way to another door at the other end of the room and pushed it open. "We're not equipped to handle that sort of magic right now. As you can see, they're updating and computerising the records--Gerry's giving everyone grey hairs over it as usual. I got more qualified wizards to give it a go . . ."

There were two witches and a wizard in the smaller back room. They were all fairly young and had the abstract look of people who were too deeply engrossed in whatever they were doing with compasses, maps and something that looked like an empty picture frame inscribed with weird symbols.

Larissa rapped on the doorframe and all three looked up. "Visitors!"

"Carla Coleman," said the youngest witch, smiling at them. Cheerful blue eyes topped with a cap of sandy curls looked them up and down in frank appraisement. "CeeCee if you like--I'm from the Salem Institute."

"You're ogling at wizards again," said the other dark-haired witch from where she sitting at the table. "Don't mind her--she's just incorrigible."

"This is Marita Otomo," Larissa said. "And that's Richard Crawfurd . . . I borrowed them for a little while to crack our little puzzlebox. This is Remus Lupin and Sirius Black."

All three looked up at once. Carla's eyes widened to saucers. "Cool!" she exclaimed. "We never expected to see you here! Is that a disguise?"

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Black--your escape from Azkaban really proved that the system wasn't infallible," said the young bespectacled wizard in the rumpled and creased shirt and windbreaker, leaning over to shake hands. "How did you pull it off?"

"I'm training to be a Dark Magic Detector--could you give me any pointers?"

Sirius looked at him sideways as if to say _Are these people sane?_ Lupin shrugged. _Better you than me . . ._ He had enough prodding from the students who had been interested in lycanthropy and human metamorphosis. These three looked like carbon copies of the kind of eager-beaver wizards Larissa Mau generally collected.

Larissa stepped smoothly in at that point. "They're deciphering the Portkey and if they succeed, it'll be a *real* breakthrough."

"How are you proposing to do that?" Lupin asked as the three youths went back to whatever they had been doing as though the interruption had never happened.

"Ley lines," said Richard, barely looking up from his survey of the maps in front of him. "We're tracing the spell's perimeters and searching for a pattern match."

"In English, Richie--not everyone can understand you in full boffin-mode," Carla--CeeCee--said. "Heck, even I don't understand all this very well," she said good-naturedly.

"Well, it all starts with Mari over there," Richard said, gesturing vaguely at his colleague. Marita had a box in front of here and Lupin didn't need to look into it to know that it contained the Portkey that led to Voldemort's well-hidden and shielded lair. "She's sensitive to magic. Putting it simply, she's getting into the spell structure and Carla takes that information--"

"And I relay it to Richie who's got the worst job of interpreting it--not that he minds," CeeCee chipped in. "My magic leans more towards telepathy or mind-reading. Mari can 'see' spell structures--which is a really cool ability--"

"But I can't describe it at all--that's why CeeCee's here," Marita finished. "Richard's the translocation and ley line expert."

"Most wizards know ley lines, right? Especially in Britain, I expect." The young Scotsman did not wait for an answer before launching an assault on his pile of maps and dragging out a few plotted charts of ley lines, which he proceeded to wave in their faces.

Ley lines--an actual grid of 'power lines' criss-crossing the earth and visible to very few magicians. Lupin had to admit that that was a novel method of cracking the Portkey.

"I had a hypothesis about Portkeys," Richard went on as they had a look at his ley line maps. "To specify a location in a spell before imprinting it on an object, you've got to have a reference point. Ley lines would serve as the magical reference points or co-ordinates that anchor the spell. The co-ordinates should be set in the Portkey spell, so if we can find the match for the spell pattern Mari 'sees' somewhere on this planet, then we've hit the jackpot."

"The sooner we get it done, the better--that thing gives me the creeps," CeeCee added.

"It does feet a little . . . *dark*," Mari admitted. "It's like an aura--probably from the spell-caster. You think it might be *Voldemort* who enchanted it?"

"Best not think about that too much, dear," Larissa said, handing them a cardboard box. "Here's a pizza--hope you like barbecue chicken flavour. Ta now . . ."

"Interesting . . . Post-N.E.W.T. students?" Lupin asked after she had shut the door. There were more and more students who opted for private sponsorship to do further magical studies after graduation these days.

She rolled her eyes at the ceiling in an exaggerated fashion. "Oh yes--precious little buggers, aren't they? They were so keen on helping and 'getting a feel' of fighting Dark Magic . . . Don't fret, I explained everything to them and they won't go spreading the news about meeting Sirius Black and working on a Portkey touched with Dark Magic no matter how thrilling it was."

"I should've said we wanted a low profile . . ."

"Oh come on--they're not stupid or anything. They would've put two and two together in another fifteen minutes and guessed who you were!"

"So you 'borrowed' them?" Lupin asked. None of those three were over twenty as far as he could tell.

"They're all fresh out of school--I didn't *kidnap* them or anything," Larissa said, raising her left eyebrow sardonically. "I asked around for volunteers for a summer job and these wizards are the best lateral thinkers I could get a hold of. I have to admit, finding the ones with the right skills was a stroke of luck."

"Knowing you, you probably had them on file."

"Indeed--I snap them up as fast as I can," she said with crooked smile. Larissa Mau had a lot of connections amongst unconventional student researchers, some of whom *he* had met because of their interest in lycanthropy. "Now you better go see Gerry about your news before he can go off on another tangent . . ."

They returned to the outer room in time to witness an interesting scene.

"It's not like Kai to miss meetings," Gerad was saying. That was true--most of the old W.E.R.E.S. clique tended to make time for the gatherings despite the fact that they were gainfully employed elsewhere. Terence had his photography, Dimitri trapped rare creatures for Magical Menageries Inc. and Kailing was working as an assistant manager in some Muggle art gallery. Edward and Caitlin had their own quiet little medical practice in a small village somewhere near Galloway--he took care of the human patients while she took care of the non-human ones. But they weren't werewolves . . .

"Gerry, sometimes people have other obligations," Caitlin replied patiently. "Bianca knows what to do."

"Other obligations? Family business again?"

At this, Caitlin smirked. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"I'm having this strange feeling that you're hiding something from me," Gerad said accusingly.

"Just because you're my twin doesn't mean I tell you *everything*," Caitlin retorted.

Her brother looked around with narrowed eyes. "And I'm having this other funny feeling that there's a feminine conspiracy afoot," he declared. And so it did appear that the female population of the room was smiling at him.

"My goodness, how did you know?" Caitlin asked in feigned shock.

"Male intuition--now spit it out."

"We might as well--it's not going to get any fresher," Larissa said. "In fact, it's old news . . ."

Gerad threw up his hands. "See? They're playing games with me now," he said to Edward and Dimitri. "What does it take to get a straight answer out of them?"

"I wouldn't presume to guess," Dimitri said. "Maybe if we asked them really slowly to get to the point?"

"All right--so what's up with Kailing?"

"Haven't you guessed? She's out with her boyfriend, you insensitive lump!" Caitlin berated her brother.

"Boyfriend?"

"The one she's had for five years. Not that you ever *noticed*, brother mine--you never notice anything unrelated to your work." Caitlin Connelly was going full steam now. Larissa and Bianca were fighting back smiles as they watched.

"Poor fellow," Sirius commented.

"He's on his own there," Edward said, picking up his sandwich and tucking in. "I'm not getting involved. I spent a week on the bloody sofa after the last time."

"It is not prudent to get in the way of indignant women," Dimitri added.

"Wise words indeed," Lupin said. A thought struck him suddenly. "Did you know about it any time during the past five years?"

"No," Dimitri said in a whisper. "But I won't tell if you don't. Personally, I can't wait for Kai to get back so we can rag her properly for this. Pass the curry, will you? Thanks." 

A short while later, Gerad escaped the haranguing at last to get his dinner. "Trust my dear sister to turn a simple reminder into a lecture . . . So I'll admit I'm a little out of touch, but I don't keep tabs on all of you--"

"And we're glad for the space, Gerad," Dimitri said. "It's hard to keep track of everyone when we only meet up once a month . . ."

"Tell that to my sister . . . Hey Remus--you've seen our collection of specialists? Dead keen, aren't they? They're Larissa's, really--so she's got to feed them and clean up after them. Well, what was it you wanted to see us about besides the Portkey?" he asked without taking a breath in between. As usual, Gerad liked to get right down to the point as soon as possible.

Lupin handed over the rolled up list. "We're trying to find a connection here with all these events." 

"And rooting around for fishy business," Sirius added. "Dumbledore's got his suspicions and so have we."

"All right," said Gerad through a mouthful of noodles, "we'll get right on it. It's right up our alley anyway. We're networking and pulling up as may favours as we can. Owl post, faxing, even electronic-mail while we're at it." He looked over to where Bianca was with the laptop computer. "I still wish Kailing was here though--she was the one who set it up--"

"I can handle it!" Bianca was heard to say--a little indistinctly because of the pizza she was chewing on--from behind the small machine. But she knew better than to take offence--Gerad was blunt to a fault and people got used to it fairly quickly because there was not a malicious bone in his body.

"Bianca can handle data entry--have a little more faith, Gerry," Caitlin chided him. "You just concentrate on what you're good at--getting organised and getting us started on it."

"Right . . . No point worrying about the old ledgers now--they're all going to dust anyway." Gerad picked up the parchment again and scanned the list. "Hmmm . . . very random indeed. Someone nicked a couple of items from the Nottingham Historical Museum of Magic . . . a couple of antique collections around the country here and there. Even one right here in London . . ."

"We're wondering how that ties in with Voldemort's activities . . . The accidental deaths looked more likely--he tried that sort of thing before he started being open about terrorising the community the last time," Lupin pointed out.

"Yeah, but we can't leave any stone unturned--could be red herrings for all we know. Maybe old Moldywarts is trying to be subtle this time?"

"Subtle? Complicated plots maybe, but subtle?" Sirius said sceptically. "He used to leave Dark Marks in the air as *calling cards* . . ."

"True, but calling cards might change . . . Mind if I make a copy of this?" At Lupin's nod, Gerad took out his wand and said, "_Imitorari_!" A few more copies of the parchment appeared beside it. "He loves that trick--says it better than Xerox any day," Caitlin said as her brother passed the copies out.

"Umm--Dimitri and Lupin can get cracking on the nature of the missing items," he said, prodding the list with his fork. They nodded--Lupin knew that he could tackle the research aspect best and Dimitri's hobby was wizard artefacts. "Larissa, could you spare the time to check for any links between the recent deaths and the missing articles? I know it's getting to your usual busy patch with term about to start and all that, but you've got the best connections."

She nodded wordlessly. Working at the Ministry made her the ideal choice for sorting through the incidents.

"Cait and Eddie have their own assignments. We'll settle the rest later . . . I say, did anyone bring the beer?"

"I don't think we brought any--"

"But I did." The newcomer at the door was a younger copy of his older brother Terence. Lupin knew Trent Lucas quite well actually and was not all that surprised to see him here.

"Bless you, Trent! And where's Terry?" Gerad asked.

"Oh he had to go--the wife's dragging him off for some dinner with the in-laws. Poor sod . . ."

"Pity . . . oh well--come on in. Trent, this is Sirius Black. Sirius, this accommodating chap's Trent Lucas--"

"The only reason why Terence puts up with us, I suspect," Caitlin chipped in.

"Because I'm a werewolf," Trent finished as they shook hands.

It was *still* disconcerting to hear someone say that so cheerfully. But Trent was a Muggle and Muggles didn't quite see it the same way as wizards did. He insisted on confessing his condition at the first opportunity to avoid any future misunderstandings.

"Remus--I hear you ran into a rough spot last month. You all right?"

"'Rough' doesn't quite describe it, but I survived," he replied. He was able to think about the last full moon without wincing anymore. "How was your last cycle?"

"Not half as eventful as yours, that's for sure . . . but I've got news for you guys. Some people have been trying to make contact with werewolves 'round here."

"Oh really?" Everyone was looking thoughtful now. This was just what they had been looking out for.

"Yeah, but our people aren't giving anything away," Trent said reassuringly. "I got word from some of them--they're coming down to help, Gerad. Don't you worry--we're sticking together through this."

"A reunion at last." Gerad raised his bottle. "To old friends who will be joining us soon . . ." 

"More werewolves, Moony?" Sirius asked with raised brows.

"Hopefully the ones who'll be on our side . . ."

* * * * * * * * * * * *

__

Notes:

Advanced classes: For the GCE 'A' Levels, there were special classes for more advanced Chemistry, Biology, Maths C, etc, etc for anyone who could take the extra torture--I mean the extra challenge of the Special Papers--so I figured that there would be advanced classes for magic subjects at N.E.W.T. level.

Order: Refers to "Order of the Phoenix". My guess is that it was some organisation that Dumbledore referred to as the "old crowd" in GoF.

Thanks goes to my beta-reader Earthwalk--her advice and comments are as welcome as her corrections.

The author mumbles: Well, it doesn't look like a pure Snapefic anymore, does it? It became a post-GoF Snapefic and Siriusfic with Lupin-subplots in it somehow . . . Oh well, I blame it my tendency to digress. More Snape in the next bit. Feel free to yell at me if he gets OOC and please give me feedback?

HP characters belong to J. K. Rowling but W.E.R.E.S. is mine. Larissa Mau belongs to Andrea L. C. (Mooky D.) and Eline.


	4. Part Four

The Reckoning

By Eline

Part Four

There had been no teachers accompanying the Hogwarts Express for years now. But then again, that had been when Voldemort and his Death Eaters had been lying low. The times had changed again.

Now the headmaster had reinstated the old security measures. Severus Snape stood on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters and watched the milling crowds of students, frowning ever so slightly. He knew Minerva McGonagall was somewhere by the barrier, watching the students entering through the concealed entrance.

Had it been more than twenty-five years since another generation of young wizards had lugged their trunks onto the platform under the watchful eyes of Ministry wizards when Voldemort's reign of terror had begun in earnest? They were probably the parents of this batch of students--those who survived anyhow.

It was still amazingly clear in his mind. But back then, he had been a lot less jaded and a lot more bewildered by all the noise around him. He had not been used to crowds--that first trip to London with his gran to get his school things had seen him gawking like an idiot at the sights and sounds that assaulted him from all directions.

The boy Severus had tried to keep his cool even though there was probably no worse feeling in the world than being alone on the first day of school. As luck would have had it, he had run into those who would be his future House mates in Slytherin. Maybe he had not actually run into them by chance--they were the sort who would look at the labels on your trunk first before speaking to you. _Just in case we accidentally get chummy with Muggles or half-bloods . . . Know what I mean?_

The exact words of Edward Wilkes, who had an older brother in the seventh year who was in turn a crony of Lucius Malfoy. Severus Snape had not really known what he had meant. But that didn't matter--what mattered was that some other first years were asking him to join them in their carriage. And besides, it was not as though Wilkes was expecting any answer to a question like that.

Snape's family had been of a respectable line of wizards and he had let himself be drawn into their circle easily enough. Not one for conversation himself, he had sat there listening to the preliminary introductions, noting the easy way these other eleven-year olds conducted themselves amongst their peers.

His turn came eventually but he had never expected the reaction he had got after he had told them where he had come from. Not the suburbs of Hampton like Belinda Rookwood, or even York like the Wilkes. No one had a clue where his home village was and what it was about except that it was out of their social--and hence geographical--sphere.

It was like a bucket of cold water in the face to be called a country bumpkin, no matter how little tact the average eleven-year old Slytherin had. That meant that he had to be wary, even here. One lesson even before the train had moved off. These people could be your friends, but not the friends you could trust. They wouldn't mind kicking anyone while they were down, their own "friends" included. 

But he was a fast learner and sarcasm served him well. Fortunately, he did not speak the local patois like the boys from the village--something which he could thank his grandparents for--and sharp sarcastic barbs soon became his trademark. It had been necessary to cultivate that sort of verbal weaponry--he had been placed into Slytherin with his new friends after all.

In retrospect, one could think that a meeting like that all those years ago had just been another step closer to the wrong sort of company. Whatever *wrong* was back in those days . . .

_There is no right or wrong. There are only choices._

Severus Snape had made his choices a long time ago. And here he was now--living proof that one could never escape the consequences of certain choices. Still the lackey of some megalomaniac who was only letting him live because he was currently short-handed and in need of an experienced potions-brewer.

It hadn't exactly been a walk in the park either. He had taken the opportunity to go down Knockturn Alley to search for certain hard-to-get items. Where in the world did one get powdered hens' teeth these days anyhow? And manticore's bile? Certainly not in an apothecary or herbalist's shop in the city these days. He would have to get in touch with the less reputable types of suppliers to get things like that . . .

But the truly frustrating thing was that for once in his life, Snape was stumped by a potion. Quite a few sleepless nights had gone by and his research was getting him nowhere in a hurry. Then he was struck by the idea that maybe it was a test or that Voldemort had omitted items from this mixture. That bright little notion wasn't doing him much good--cross-referencing every potion that had mandrake root in it was a fool's quest in itself.

After a fruitless morning's search, he was waiting impatiently for the train to leave--Snape could hardly wait to get out of this polluted, congested city. The noise the students were making did not improve his humour.

Over and over he watched the hoards of teenagers pound up and down the platform, in and out of the train . . . Voldemort would hardly attack a trainload of students at King's Cross Station unless there was something to be gained from it. A mob of several hundred outraged parents was something even the old serpent was not prepared for. Not yet anyway. It was not time yet to show his hand. 

As he watched the chaos at the station, he witnessed one of the many commonplace exchanges on the platform as a gaggle of girls lugged their trunks up into the train just in front of him. A shout from the crowd halted one of them in mid-stride. 

"Carrie! Wait a minute!" A witch in dark green robes--presumably the girl's mother--ran up to her with a paper bag. "You forgot your lunch. Have you got your water-bottle?"

"Yes. Don't worry, Mum--I'm fine," said the girl with the age-old look of exasperation that children over ten save up for their parents.

There was something vaguely familiar about that voice . . .

The woman was sharp-featured, dark-haired and very recognisable as she looked up abruptly.

"Severus Snape?" She looked more than a little surprised to see him there.

_Althea Llewelyn_. 

Memory opened the required mental files and shoved him the reference card. Althea was another Slytherin from his year, but he had not seen her in years on the account of her being abroad.

"I thought you were in Australia?"

"I moved back three years ago," she said. Here she looked a little grim. "That was after my Dennis got a little careless with those scorpions he was studying."

"My condolences." A meaningless pleasantry, and Thea knew it.

"You didn't know Dennis--what's there to be sorry about?" She was still as blunt as a hammer. "Are you seeing someone off too?"

"No." He looked down at the eleven-year old girl. "Carrie St. John" was printed in white on one side of her trunk. "Your daughter?" The child bore only a slight resemblance to Althea.

"Yes--Carrie's starting her first year at Hogwarts . . . Carrie--you run along and find your friends--I'll be speaking to an old schoolmate here," she told her daughter and shooed her towards the train. "So what brings you here this morning then?" she queried.

"I teach at Hogwarts."

"You're a *teacher*?" Althea exclaimed incredulously. "Fancy that! Severus Snape--a teacher? What do you teach? Defence Against the Dark Arts?"

No, he did not teach that class despite the fact that he was more than qualified for it. "Potions," he replied shortly. 

"Now that is strange," Thea said quietly. "You were always one for dabbling in the Dark Arts . . . I'm surprised you're still--"

"Alive?" Thea knew what he had been. She had always been a collector of secrets--his own included.

"Yes," she admitted. "After all that trouble I heard about back then, you can't blame me for wondering . . ."

He could not blame her for wondering, but he certainly could stop her from prying. "I get by as well as I can. Good day to you, Mrs. St John--the train's about to leave soon."

Having effectively distanced himself from her, he strode down the platform purposefully. Professor McGonagall met him halfway, herding a group of lost-looking first years in front of her.

"Professor Snape, would you have a word with the driver that we're due to leave soon? I need to get these students settled in. "

The driver probably did not need any reminding after so many years on the job, but he took the chance to move even further down the platform. When he chanced to look back, Althea was no longer there.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

It had been one of the better holidays for Harry Potter. 

The Durselys had let him go to Ron's for the last three weeks of the holidays. Between leaving Harry at home while they went to Corsica for a vacation and packing him off to the Weasleys, they had opted for what looked like the lesser of two evils. No doubt they would have been even happier to get rid of him permanently, but Dumbledore had been most insistent that Harry had to stay with his relations for most of the holidays.

Harry actually looked forwards to school even though it normally entailed a lot of danger. At least he was with his friends and schoolmates. 

They were at the train station, idly watching the students milling about. Harry noticed that there were less cheerful faces in the crowd on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters and said so.

"It means some people believe Dumbledore," Ron said optimistically. There had been some controversy over that during the summer vacation. Hermione had collected clippings from the _Prophet_ and Ron had filled him in on what had been transpiring in the wizarding community.

"It's surprising--I mean, everyone's still coming to school."

"Of course they are! What d'you think they'd doing?"

"Well, Hogwarts is under Dumbledore's protection . . . Maybe everyone thinks that's the safest place to be." Hermione frowned. Her parents were Muggles and she had a valid reason to be worried with Voldemort on the loose.

"It's going to be all right," Ron said awkwardly. "You-Know-Who wouldn't--"

"Don't do that Ron," Hermione said suddenly. "You're better than that--go on . . . say it."

Seeing Harry's expectant look, Ron took a deep breath. "All right--*Voldemort* doesn't want to give the game away. He hasn't made a move in *months*."

"It doesn't mean he isn't going to," Hermione continued glumly. "Right, Harry?" 

"Yeah, I guess--"

"Hey, look--there's Snape," Ron said, pointing down the platform at a tall figure swathed in black.

The Potions Master was indeed there and instantly noticeable because of the wide berth he was being given by the students. His chilly, grim stare could have something to do with why even most of the adults were also avoiding him. As that was Snape's usual demeanour towards students and every living being on the planet, they were not particularly alarmed. 

"I can definitely believe he was a Death Eater," Ron said quietly. "I always said he was on Voldemort's side."

"But he wasn't," Harry admitted reluctantly. "Dumbledore believes that."

"Yeah, but I reckon he'd run right back to Voldemort pretty quick if he looked like he was winning," Ron predicted ominously.

"I wonder what's he doing here though . . ." Hermione looked thoughtful. "Has anyone every seen him outside Hogwarts before?"

"No--and I hope I never will," Ron wished fervently. "It's bad enough that we get picked on in every Potions class . . ."

"Well, let's not spoil it before the first Potions lesson then," Harry said. It had been, all in all, a most satisfactory summer. He had gone with Ron to a Chudley Cannons' home game--the second Quidditch match where he was a spectator and not a player. Ron had been appalled over his lack of Quidditch-watching experience even when Harry had pointed out mildly that he tended to watch matches from the vantage afforded to him by his broom. Hermione had arrived at the Burrow a week before the end of the summer holidays, interrupting the continuous flow of Quidditch discussions and asking them if they had done any revision because "We are going to have our O.W.L.s this year! Aren't you two the least bit concerned?"

But even that was not enough to dampen their ebullience. The only thing that troubled Harry's current existence was Voldemort's return to power. It lurked at the back of his mind, springing out to taunt him during the times when youthful high spirits weren't nearly enough to make him forget that the most powerful Dark Wizard to ever walk the world was his nemesis. 

Bill Weasley--home for a short holiday--had taken him aside one day after he had told the three of them about his first brush with the supporters of Voldemort. Harry thought that he must have looked particularly troubled at that time for Bill to be reassuring him and telling him that he had friends, he was protected to a certain degree--so he should not live in fear and wind up a nervous wreck before he turned sixteen. It was sound advice and Harry had been able to spend most of his holidays in relative peace.

They had received an enormous care package with a card from "Moony and Snuffles" just yesterday and it had been no chore at all to take the sweets along with them for the trip. They shared it out with some of their fellow Gryffindors on the train--this made their carriage a very popular place to be during the journey to Hogwarts. It even got rather rowdy later in the afternoon.

Dean Thomas had taken Seamus Finnigan to a few soccer matches in return for the introduction to professional Quidditch last summer. The debate of "Quidditch vs. Footy" raged on over Harry's copy of _Quidditch Monthly_ and Dean's _Match_ magazine while Hermione, Lavender and Parvati ignored the lot of them in favour of discussing their holidays. Neville was loyally backing the pro-Quidditch faction and Dean was outnumbered long before the train arrived at their destination.

Tired but cheerful, they made their way up to the castle proper by coach, ready for the Sorting and feasting. Everything went by in a whirl of noisy festivities, until Dumbledore stood to make his usual start of the term announcements.

"Regretfully, we do not have a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher with us this term," Dumbledore began.

Harry exchanged bewildered looks with his friends. Surely now was the time when Defence Against the Dark Arts was most needed? Of course, the job was reputed to be jinxed and nothing Harry had seen had proved it to be a *wrong* assumption.

So far, the D.A.D.A. teachers had been a) working for Voldemort (Moody/Crouch and Quirrell), b) weren't who they appeared to be (Lockhart and Moody), c) were absolutely useless at the job (Lockhart and Quirrell) and d) keeping dark secrets (every single one of them).

Harry wished that Professor Lupin would come back--he had been the best D.A.D.A. teacher of the lot. But not many wizards and witches would be tolerant of werewolves teaching their children, so that was a moot point anyhow.

"However, we will be having a series of teachers who have made time in their busy schedules to come in to take your classes," he continued after the whispered had died down. "We will have Alastor Moody with us this week--he'll be arriving tomorrow. Mr. Filch would like to remind you all that, quote, 'students caught tramping around after dark will be severely dealt with--most probably with a red hot poker', unquote. And lastly, please be reminded that the Forbidden Forest is out of bounds."

"That's sort of odd--having no teacher for Defence Against the Dark Arts," Hermione said as they made their way back to the Gryffindor Tower. "How are we going to have exams then?"

"Is that all you think about?" Harry asked, climbing through the portrait hole with the others. "With what's happening--or what's going to happen--exams are the last thing on *my* mind."

"That's the point! We need all the magical training we can get," Hermione said. "Maybe no one applied for the job and Dumbledore couldn't find any one who would take it up?"

"Maybe they heard about what happened to the last four teachers," Ron said, yawning. "But maybe a bunch of them could do better . . . G'night anyway--I'm ready to drop any minute now."

Harry agreed. There was nothing in the world that could ruin his current good mood. A full stomach and a long eventful day were conspiring to weigh down his eyelids.

He should have known that the fragile state of bliss could not last past the first Potions lesson.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Severus Snape swept back into the dungeon and saw that the class was certainly not brewing that panacea potion for common aliments like they were supposed to. He had just gone into his office for a moment--just *one* moment--and there had been a commotion shortly after.

"Cease this at once!" he ordered as he approached the cause of the ruckus.

In the past, that might have been enough, but somehow it never was whenever it came to scraps between Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. It was so much worse after they had learned hexes . . .

Neither boy had put down his wand and they were both glaring at the other as though it could make up for any amount of curses they could have thrown.

There was a heavy tension in the air that boded ill--Snape recognised it at once. "Potter, Malfoy--put away your wands."

Two pairs of eyes barely even spared him a rebellious glance as they backed down slowly from the confrontation.

"I said, put them away! That goes for the rest of you too!" Some of others had been in the process raising their own wands.

There were a few sullen looks as the class obeyed. "Get back to your places and remember that you are fifth years for once!" he snapped. "I don't have to tell you to get on with your work again, do I?"

The class shuffled back to their places reluctantly and he could turn his attention back to Potter and Malfoy. 

"You will see me after the class is dismissed to discuss your detention." His tone made it clear that it was going to be detention or a trip to the headmaster's office. Potter glowered at him while Malfoy sneered in a way reminiscent of his father.

The rest of the lesson was spent correcting the mistakes that the most ham-handed first year wouldn't have made. Everyone seemed distracted and no amount of sharp comments was going to snap them out of it. After what happened last term, it wasn't that surprising to find everyone's nerves on the edge. The Gryffindors were glaring at the Slytherins mistrustfully and vice versa. The end of the lesson dispelled the uneasy atmosphere ever so slightly, but the worst was yet to come.

Potter was first. At least he knew where he stood with James Potter's son. They loathed each other.

Snape regarded the boy standing before his desk warily. "Trouble in the first week of school. Why am I not surprised that you're in the thick of it, Potter?"

"Malfoy started it--he all but said that he and his father were in league with--"

"I don't know how you managed to survive so long with your knack of getting into trouble," he cut in, "but I think your charmed life might be cut short if you persist in meddling in matters that don't concern you."

Harry just glared back. "It does concern me--same as it concerns you."

Snape was momentarily stunned. How much did the boy know?

"Am I right then?" Harry pressed his advantage. "Something's up and you--"

"Which is none of your business!" The damnable boy also had a knack for making him lose his temper--such as it was at the moment. "You have no idea what you're talking about!" 

The boy might think he had seen something of the Dark Magic Voldemort practised, but that was just the tip of the ice-burg. There were always darker things--secrets so vile that even the Death Eaters avoided mentioning them.

"I've seen Voldemort k--"

"If you know what's good for you, you will stay out of this! You should *never* have become a wizard!"

"Is that your idea of *protection*?" the young upstart asked. The disdainful look on his face was exactly like James Potter at that moment. "That I'd be safer if I were a Muggle?"

Snape knew he was giving away too much already, but fortunately, Harry had not caught on yet. He forced a measure of calm on himself and looked up coldly. "I couldn't be bothered with how you live or die, Potter. But it will not be in this school or in my class--your father's paltry debt will only extend so far." If only the ignorant boy knew the real reasons . . .

"Detention, Potter--and twenty points from Gryffindor," he snapped to forestall any more tiresome quibbling. "Another word from you and it'll be thirty."

The expression on Potter's face became even more mulish--if that was possible--and he strode out stiffly. Draco Malfoy smirked unpleasantly from the doorway as his nemesis walked past.

Draco thought he would get away with it. Well, that might be the case if Snape could wrangle out of the boy what he had been unable to find out from his father . . .

"Direct disobedience will not be tolerated, Mr Malfoy," he said softly. "Nor will there be any disruption of my classes, or duelling in the dungeons."

"But--"

"You have to learn to be more careful. Or didn't your father teach you any better?" Lucius Malfoy was getting too arrogant about the still uncertain future--his son was following his example.

"He did teach me," Draco said with dark glower. "But it won't matter soon. You should know--"

"I do not need a rebellious teenager to remind me. Just remember where you are, Draco--"

"You can't believe that Dumbledore can do anything to stop--"

"But others do," Snape said, irritable at being interrupted. "You might find yourself in the minority here, Draco . . . However, there will be detention, Mr Malfoy--you can carry out your vendetta against Mr Potter outside the classroom."

Surprise and shock supplanted the smug look on his face. "It wasn't just Potter--" he began.

"I see precious little to prove otherwise," Snape countered.

"My father will hear of this!"

There was a sudden silence. Draco was looking angry and stubborn at the same time--but it was not merely some form of teenage sullenness. "Was that a threat?"

"Yes," Draco hissed sharply. "I am my father's hand in Hogwarts."

"I have heard of no such matters concerning you." They were speaking almost in whispers by now.

Draco regarded him suspiciously. "So maybe you aren't privy to my father's mission--" 

"Or perhaps we merely received different sets of instructions," Snape said swiftly. That was very likely to be the truth anyhow. "Don't tip off Potter and others to what you're doing."

The widening of the boy's eyes was enough to tell him that his last guess had been correct. There had to be a reason why Draco and his friends were still coming to Hogwarts. It was starting again. Right under Dumbledore's nose too.

"Your enthusiasm is to be commended, Draco, but try to be a little more discrete," Snape said, dismissing the boy without the detention he so richly deserved. Unwelcome memories had began to wake the moment Draco had confirmed his worst suspicions. Dumbledore should be warned--the canker was already taking root . . .

* * * * * * * * * * * *

__

Hogwarts, February 1975

"Meeting tonight." A seventeen-year old Severus Snape crumpled up the scrap of parchment and shoved it up his sleeve to hide it from old Professor Binns. Not that it mattered much. It was the weekly History of Magic lesson and Severus doubted that the ghostly Professor would even notice if they had brought in a brass marching band as he droned on and on in his monotonous voice.

But now, he was not feeling bored anymore.

It had something to do with the events that were shaking the wizarding world like a series of silent earthquakes. No one dared to say any names. No one dared to mention it as though it would bring catastrophe down on their heads.

You *heard* about it though.

Whisper . . . whisper . . . all year long, everywhere you went--the whispers . . .

Of fear. Of deaths. Of terrible incidents that the Ministry was hard pressed to cover. Hushed voices in the corridors. The students who were being summoned to Dumbledore's office and were later seen all red-eyed and sniffing, and sometimes crying outright. The teachers wore increasing haunted looks and one of them had to resign because of "a bad case of nerves".

But Snape was curious, his interest in the Dark Arts notwithstanding. Most the Slytherins seemed outwardly unaffected by the slow, insidious changes. But there was more whispering in their dorm--not whisperings of grief and fear, but hints of darkness and power. Something to do with the meeting that night.

It was not the most convenient time for this sort of thing as the N.E.W.T.s were looming up ahead of them and the seventh years was under pressure to perform. Keeping an ear to the ground for the latest news while rushing homework was quite an effort in itself. The other Slytherins got their information from their families and networks of friends. Snape had never felt the lack of such connections until recently. He would have been completely out of the loop had it not been for some quick manoeuvring in the last two years that allowed him to spend the holidays with some of his housemates and their lives outside school.

It was fortunate that he was a fast learner, for these were worlds of intrigue where Severus Snape would have been like a fish out water considering his limited experience. His own sphere consisting of Hogwarts and a home on the outskirts a small country village was suddenly extremely cramp and stifling. In all seventeen years of his life, he had never travelled any further than his own school. A fact that he carefully hid from his so-called friends. He had learned that weaknesses were things to be exploited--especially around Slytherins.

The current group he had insinuated himself into consisted of Melissa Travers, Evan Rosier, Pascal Zabini, Althea Llewelyn, Edward Wilkes, Andre Lestrange, Belinda Rookwood and Thomas Avery. They had roughly the same classes and normally came together to do homework and swap interesting news.

That particular evening, they ousted the younger Slytherins from the choice seats by the fireplace by virtue of their seniority, ignoring the dire looks and angry mutters because it wasn't done to pay attention to younger members of their House.

Ink and quills were brought out. Complaints about various teachers were aired as per normal. Even Slytherins could empathise with each other over homework done at the eleventh hour. Especially Advanced class homework. Snape was doing the maximum of two Advance classes, hoping that they would prove useful when he applied for an apprenticeship after graduation.

Althea and Pascal had the same idea. Evan and Andre took the advanced D.A.D.A. class just to get into the Restricted Section of the library to look up those curses Snape had known about long before they did. 

Right now, the ones with a single Advanced class were finished up their work, leaving Snape with Slytherins doing the double load of Advanced classes--Melissa, Althea and Pascal. 

Melissa got up and came back with a Honeyduke's bag., claiming that she would fall sleep over her essay if she didn't have something to snack on. Snape thought that was very likely--she was one of the rare few taking Advanced Divination and he couldn't fathom how anyone could make anything out of that boring gibberish, much less do an essay comparing the effectiveness of Tarot Cards and the _I Ching_.

"Swap you one of my quills for two of those sugar ones?" Althea asked. Her grandfather was an illuminator and she didn't have shop-bought quills because she had home-made ones of better quality.

"Done. What happened to your stash?" Melissa asked as she handed over the sweets. "We were in Hogsmeade only yesterday."

"Yes, but I think someone nicked it when I brought it down here and turned my back for a moment," Thea said, passing over a quill. "Probably some poxy first years . . ."

Slytherins certainly did not share, but they weren't above a little sneaky pinching now and then.

"You aren't going to hunt them down and hex them?"

"I can't be arsed to," Thea said predictably. She could never be bothered with a lot of things--it was an astonishing fact that she had managed to survive in Slytherin House for this long. "I'll put an Indigestion Hex on my stuff the next time. But now I've got to rush this essay for Locusta . . . Snape--I hope you aren't doing anything on naturally occurring poisons, are you?"

It was usually better to have completely original papers for their Advanced classes. "No--mine's hallucinogenic compounds. How much have you got done?"

"Three inches--which is why I shan't be getting any sleep tonight," she complained. "Starker's essay took up the whole afternoon!"

Professor William Starkly--called "Stark-ravin' Liam" or just "Starkers" by everyone else--who taught Defence Against the Dark Arts was one tough, paranoid customer to please. Unfortunately for all concerned, Professor Nero Locusta the Potions Master was possibly even more anal-retentive. Snape had used up his afternoon free periods for the past three days to do his own D.A.D.A. essay. He had done his research for his Advanced Potions essay yesterday evening and was confident of his ability to produce something that wasn't completely smoke and assorted horse apples at the last minute.

"What did you write on then?" Pascal Zabini wanted to know.

"Gorgons. I got the idea after Madam Pince gave me the Evil Eye in the library," Thea replied. "What did you two write about?" she asked Snape and Zabini. "I saw you taking your own sweet time in the Restricted Section." 

"Ancient Roman and Grecian Death Hexes." He had done seven feet of it--surpassing his second longest essay record by four inches.

"That even *sounds* tedious," Pascal said. "Mine's on cursed weapons of the Medieval Ages."

"Boys and their swords," Thea laughed. "Is it a wand-thing, I wonder?" she asked Melissa slyly. Thea was *never* above taking the mickey out of all and sundry.

"Is that right then?" Zabini asked indignantly as Melissa snickered along dutifully. "You girls--"

"Us girls *what*?" Someone came back down again, bearing a candle to illuminate the dark stairs.

It was Belinda Rookwood. "Still up?" she asked. "All right for you swots, I suppose." She handed over a roll of parchment to Althea. "Almost forgot about this. Thanks so much, Thea." 

"Oh cheers, Belinda."

"They're cribbing off you again?" Melissa raised an eyebrow quizzically as Belinda returned to her dorm.

"I don't see why you let them," Snape said. He had strong views about cribbing--especially when others were too lazy and took advantage of someone else's hard work.

Anyone who thought they could pick Severus Snape's brains or pick on him had been quickly disabused of the notion in his first year when he had lashed out with his ample supply of hexes at an erstwhile bully who had been attempting to intimidate him. He had gotten into heaps of trouble and received a month's worth of detention for that, but everyone else had taken note of it and either left him well alone, or tried to befriend him amidst the little power games the Slytherins played amongst themselves.

"Yeah, but they don't make my life a misery. And they can't crib off me during the exams, so their grades aren't getting any better. I've been waiting for them to catch on for about six years now, but I don't think they get it," Thea said with a smirk. "I don't think they'll pull through during the N.E.W.T.s."

"Maybe it doesn't matter to them anymore," Melissa said. According to hearsay, her older brother was in it deep. But she still wasn't letting on if she knew anything substantial. "I heard that Belinda's family are on Voldemort's side."

"Old news, Melissa, very old news." The majority of the Slytherins and their families were for Voldemort. Not openly, of course.

"I mean right in Voldemort's inner circle . . . But it could be a rumour for all we know."

"For all *you* know," Pascal began in a superior tone. "Some of us are a little more in the know."

"I see--so what is it that you know that we don't?" Melissa countered.

Snape could see how tempted Zabini was to announce the meeting for the whole world to hear and settled for giving him a warning look instead of the kick the idiot deserved.

"If I told you--"

"Then it wouldn't be a secret anymore," Thea finished dryly. "How convenient. *Do* tell us when you've finally made it to Voldemort's inner circle. Oh, wait--that's got to be a secret too, right?"

"They'll want grown wizards, Pascal--not boys who haven't learned to shave yet," Melissa said disparagingly. Oh yes, the girls were going at him with all claws bared now. "And even if they want some schoolboys, they'd pick someone who could actually do a proper curse like they *meant* it. Like Snape over there."

"But you've got to have the right attitude," Pascal said, manfully gathering up the shreds of his dignity while Snape refrained from smirking. "I happen to agree that Muggles should be exterminated--like that Sirius Black and a couple of those half-breed Gryffindors."

"That's coming on rather strong--what's gotten into you?"

"It's not right--mixing the bloodlines like that," Zabini said, looking uncomfortable at the very mention of the subject. "Avery and Wilkes were right about that--we might lose all the magic if it were diluted."

"Oh, I don't know . . ." Thea murmured. "Those farmers next door always said that inbreeding was bad for the sheep . . . Hybrid vigour, you know?"

"But we're not *sheep*, Thea" he said condescendingly. Althea gave him a look that quite plainly said _Then why are you acting like one?_--which he failed to see completely.

"Stick to reading tea leaves," he continued with the nonchalance of someone who did not know that he was treading on very thin ice. "It's probably easier for you to understand."

Snape wisely concentrated on his essay. Thea and Melissa had the same look girls normally wore before strange spells of bad luck suddenly afflicted unwitting boys. Like ripening stinkhorn in boots, Tripping Hexes and large groups of girls pointing and whispering their direction. Most Slytherin girls were vindictive--to say the very least--and he did not want to spend the next few weeks checking for hexes every time he turned around.

"Go bugger a sheep, Zabini," Thea said, rolling her eyes and continued penning her essay in a neat hand that betrayed her usual lackadaisical nature. Conversation stalled after that. Snape was glad for it was easier to concentrate without the distraction and he could get this done before the meeting.

Two hours later, all four of them were rolling up their parchments and calling it quits for the night. It was quite a record--their homework was done and it wasn't even one in the morning yet. Pretending to yawn and complain about missing hours of sleep, they made their way up to their own dormitory where the others were wide-awake and waiting. It had been a conscious choice by Wilkes and Avery to include only the most likely seventh years in this outing because it was their first time they were contacting real Dark Wizards. They hadn't been too sure about some of the girls yet and decided not to chance it. 

"It's about time!" Avery muttered when they finally showed up. "What took you so long? Your soddin' essay must be ten feet long by now!" Snape had spent one vacation with Thomas Avery in London and had his measure now. He might snap and snarl, but being natural born bully that he was, he wouldn't go for anyone who was stronger.

"Shut up, Avery--you'll wake the whole school," Edward Wilkes said. "We're still on time--it's at two o'clock. Is that enough time to get there, Snape?"

None of them knew the school and its grounds by night half as well as he did, which was why he had been given the responsibility of guiding them to the meeting place. He had done his own midnight forays through Hogwarts in an effort to trace Potter and his gang's movements, but they seemed to know of secret passages he had not found yet. But those trips had not been entirely wasted--Snape could take them through Hogwarts and out to the gate without a lamp or a spell.

"We'll leave in five minutes in case anyone's still up," he told them. "Then after that, no talking. The new caretaker's got a cat and that wretched thing seems to pop up everywhere."

It would seem as though he had inadvertently jinxed them, for they almost ran into the mangy grey bundle of fur when they reached the ground floor of the castle. They all froze, hardly daring to breathe while expecting an over-zealous caretaker to pop up before them.

But they were lucky that time--no one else appeared after one heart-stopping minute. The grey cat moved on, distracted by the sound of mice near a suit of armour and it was all Snape could do not to sigh too heavily in relief as they moved on.

Despite the odd thrill of that near miss, Snape was fully aware of what they were doing and just how much trouble this could land them in. It would be expulsion for certain. And yet he could not have backed down from it at this stage, could he?

The rest of the way out of the castle was uneventful and soon, they were standing at a small seldom-used side gate that faced the approximate direction of Hogsmeade and the surrounding countryside. It was locked, but it would not prove to be an obstacle. Andre Lestrange stepped up briskly with his wand and got to work on the lock.

He was good at picking locks--magical or otherwise. His past experience had supposedly came from sneaking out at night during the holidays to meet with his girlfriend from Durmstrang who just happened to take her vacations in a place an hour's journey south of Hogwarts. Whatever the reasons were, he had the gate open in under two minutes and they were outside school grounds on a chilly February night.

Winter still held sway over the land even though it had stopped snowing two weeks ago. Their breath rose like steam as they trod down the rough track, following Wilkes' lead. It had been Edward's older brother who had tipped him off to this little gathering. It had been a terribly convenient arrangement, Snape had thought to himself before curiosity got the better of him. 

And so he was trudging along in dark with Pascal Zabini nattering on nervously beside him and the others acting like it was some sort of interesting adventure. Pascal was being dreadfully tedious. Snape mentally wrote him off as another one who was all bark and no bite.

"I mean--what if they decide they don't need us after all?" Pascal was saying as they skirted Hogsmeade and a few fields.

"I wouldn't worry about that," Snape said, "it's not like we're going there to pledge allegiance or anything." They seemed so eager to throw themselves into this--Snape wondered why he was having reservations. 

"Ed's brother said there's always room for more," Avery said in an encouraging way.

"Yes--I suppose they need all the help they can get . . ."

That was a reasonable assumption. Voldemort's supporters were only a very small minority who hid themselves well. They might even need the help of teenage boys if they were that desperate.

They *had* to be desperate if they were risking a meeting so close to Hogwarts . . . 

A dark shadow detached itself from a dense copse of trees and startled them all. The figure threw back its hood and then it was just a young woman in a cloak. Lestrange recovered first and went forwards to take her hand.

"This is Drucilla Kristóf," Andre said reverently. It didn't take a genius to figure out who she was and how he felt about her.

"Gentlemen." She was tall and her stance was proud as a queen's. Her thick black hair gleamed slightly in the dim light as she inclined her head slightly at them. At close range, she could not have been older than any of them, but she looked mature for her age. 

The others looked reluctantly impressed as introductions--a little too formal considering the setting--were made. Even now, he could see Pascal and Evan shoving their wands back under their cloaks hurriedly and the others desperately trying to act nonchalant. Snape knew that they probably looked like scared little boys about to wet themselves a moment ago.

Wilkes did pull Lestrange aside for a moment in a futile attempt to reassert himself. "Andre--this isn't some romantic outing! Why'd you arrange for your girlfriend to coming along?"

"Drucilla is quite serious about this--I assure you," Andre said defensively. "We thought this through together." 

"Maybe it's not your brain that's doing the thinking," Wilkes said darkly. But he strode on, muttering to himself. Snape privately agreed with him. At that moment, Andre Lestrange did not look like he would have been able to refuse Drucilla's smallest request.

"You're from Durmstrang--that's quite far away, isn't it?" Pascal asked in an attempt to start a conversation with Drucilla as they walked on. 

"I Apparated here. I wouldn't dream of missing out on this." And her heavy-lidded gaze met Andre's for a moment as though they shared some secret.

Illegal Apparation. They had probably been meeting for months in secret. Drucilla and Andre's standing just rose a few more notches in their eyes. Snape would have tried it himself long ago, except that even the strongest wizard had to get out of Hogwarts first before performing any Apparation or Disapparation.

"All right--we're here," Wilkes hissed at them before stepping through a thicket. It proved to be a clever screen for a small clearing where several dark figures were assembled. 

"Put up your hoods," Drucilla cautioned them. Belatedly, they saw that the others there were all cloaked and hooded. It was probably done to safeguard their identities from the others. No wizard would ever want to be caught or identified at this particular gathering . . .

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Snape could still remember the secrecy involved. It was necessary when one was meeting up with Voldemort's servants. The likes of them would never meet up with the Dark Lord. Only the most trusted could bypass the intermediaries and back then, they had been callow schoolboys who had been throwing themselves into things they did not understand yet.

But that didn't matter very much for the seventeen-year old boys they had once been. Awed by the secrecy and sombreness of the gathering, they had clustered in a cold clearing with other anonymous figures and waited for Voldemort's emissaries to speak.

They were faceless figures who spoke with such conviction that one could not help but listen. They were convincing because their zeal had been *real*. Snape had not known enough at that time to be weary of such extremists yet.

It was easy to remember what they had said because it had been so frighteningly logical. _Down with the Ministry and its oppressive ban on Dark Magic. No more pandering to the Muggles and hiding their magic. The magic was theirs and why shouldn't they use it to rise above the ignorant Muggles?_

Fine words. Persuasive words. It appealed to the class-conscious Slytherins. If Voldemort was opposed to Mudbloods and Muggles, there would be many from the old families who would back him.

Then came the promises. Promises of power. Promises of safety from the coming scourge. Promises of how things would be so much better if only they followed Voldemort to greatness. The promised chance to rise above all those who dared to oppress them. 

It worked on the susceptible youths they had been. Or perhaps it only backed up the conditioning the Slytherins had received from their own families. People like Lestrange and Rosier looked for greatness in someone else's shadow. Others were merely cowardly and easily swayed. His teenage self had dispassionately considered just how this option could benefit him and how many doors it could open for an unknown but ambitious wizard without any connections.

Whatever the reasons, Voldemort had snared them there and then. _Get them while they're young and impressionable . . ._

Recruiting from the schools of magic--Malfoy wouldn't need any encouragement to spread it about. Most of the Slytherins' families had links with Death Eaters anyhow, so it stood to reason that the next step was the same tried and tested plan of cajoling or intimidating other wizards to join them. 

That meant none of the teachers were going to get any sleep until certain breaches in security had been closed. Snape got up wearily to go to Dumbledore's office. It was going to be an uphill battle to maintain a balance in the school.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

__

To Severus Snape:

Your order is going to take some time to fill as certain items have not been in demand for some time now. As for the list of references you sent, some of them are not available and it will take some considerable effort to obtain those you need. I am amicable to bargaining.

Regards,

Xu Fu-Tzu

* * * * * * * * * * * *

__

R.,

Went around the country checking up on stolen items. Weather is terrible as usual, but not quite as bad as back home. Have attached list of items taken--make what you will of them. They seem to be mostly antique crockery and manuscripts. Have to take a commission to catch hobgoblins, so I'm disengaging for a week.

D. Kheryvek

* * * * * * * * * * * *

__

Lupin,

How goes the search? D. tells me it's not looking promising and he's got to go back to work for a week. Snooping around London isn't a picnic, I'll tell you--getting called an Irish troublemaker lost its appeal about ten years ago.

Kyra, Danny and others will be coming down soon. Just thought you should know.

Gerad

P. S.: Kailing said she's getting rid of her bike for a Honda Civic. (I shudder to think about what this means in the long run.) Ask your friend if he wants it second hand.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

__

Remus,

Progress is slow but steady down here in Boffin Central. They said we could expect some results soon.

Larissa M.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

__

Severus,

I need to see you--this is important. I will be in Hogsmeade on Thursday.

Thea

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Jargon and stuff:

Advanced classes: See part three for details.

__

I Ching: Book of Changes. An ancient Chinese book of divinations.

Illuminator: Person who does illuminations--i.e. designs/illustrations in books

Eternal thanks to beta-reader Earthwalk and CLS for the additional comments

__

The author's bothersome notes: Went on holiday in the UK and did not write anything for two weeks, so excuse me if it sounds disjointed or weird. The whole past/present/past/present-thingy might be a bit tiresome, eh? Comments?

(Did not see any werewolves there--even though it was of full moon--or interesting looking Professors in black. However, I immediately thought "Wormtail!" when I saw the rats in the subway. Just my luck . . .)

Re-posted on 03/01/00


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